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darkdevasofdestruction · 6 months ago

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Mine, Always and Forever ~ Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

Small disclaimer: It's Ramsay we're talking about; The story will have heavy dark themes and scenes that might make you uncomfortable.

Summary: Ramsay's obsession has always been Lady Y/N Stark, since the very moment they were children, and up into their adulthood. Everything he does, he does for her. He would burn the whole world to see her in his arms again, desperately needing him again. Ramsay Snow was going to trample over every noble house known to Westeros, just to gain the right to claim the little she-wolf that encaptured him in her spell.

Y/N was looking down at Sandor Clegane, wearing a conflicted yet highly determined look on her face; He, however, was smirking, he was amused to the point of barking a laugh in her face. His large hands kept a strong grip on her hips to keep her comfortably on his lap.

"Anyone told you you're one crazy lady, little fox?" the disfigured man teased the red haired Stark lady; Her long nails were digging harshly into his shoulders.

"Yes." she said deadpan. "Let them say whatever. As long as I get out of here, I don't care."

"You want me to risk my neck, to get you out of King's Landing. That's bold, even for you." his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "And you think giving me your maidenhood's gonna sweeten me into losing my life, is that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sandor. I'm only here because you're the only trust-worthy person in this pit of vipers." she hissed at him. "My maidenhood is not yours to take, nor am I giving it away to anyone except the man I've been in love with since I was eleven winters old."

"Sentimentalism won't get you anywhere, girl." he scoffed, finally pushing you off him to tumble on the hard ground. "And neither will you fleeing. Everything is surveilled by the Lions."

"Robb is at the Twins. If I get there, I can return home to Winterfell. I am the oldest - Someone must take care of our home." Y/N got up, her long red hair a beautiful mess all around her. "Sandor, I need you. Please. What do you need me to do? Beg you? I will beg you, if that's what you want."

"Tell me who's that poor bastard." Y/N looked at him confused, but dragged a chair by the bed and sat down.

"Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay Snow." her voice was serene and casual. "You know, that crazy guy who gets off on flaying living people."

"I'm beginning to think someone slammed your head against a wall. Girl, you're deranged." she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she doesn't care much. "Does anyone know about him?"

"My dad used to know I had a thing for Ramsay - Obviously, we didn't speak much about it. If mother found out I was head over heels over a lowly bastard from a disgusting family like the Boltons... Well, I wouldn't hear the end of it." she laughed dryly. "Mother would be very disappointed to know that all of her girls have terrible taste in men - Take Sansa for example, falling for an old dog like you... And, to be fair, I don't think Arya even has a taste for men at all, if you catch my drift."

"The little bird won't sing me sweet thrills." he huffed under his breath. "Convince me, and I'll think about helping you get out of your cage."

"Let's see... It all began many years ago, when I had just passed my eleventh year alive, and my father took me to the Dreadfort for business with Roose Bolton..."

The Stark party arrived on horse-back after many hours of uncomfortable riding through the snow and cold; Eddard was afraid his little girl would get ill - Cat had told him many times not to take her - But he couldn't refuse Y/N's pleading. She was eleven years of age, and behaving very much like how Lyanna used to. Y/N might favour her Tully side, with scarlet hair shining like red copper in the Sun, and light eyes that peered deep into your soul - But at heart, she was a valiant and loyal Wolf.

The forest hiding the Dreadfort was thick, yet beautiful, though in no way could it compare to the woods around Winterfell. It was a warm Spring afternoon, with the flowers in bloom; the sky was blue and embellished with a few lazy clouds, and the breeze was gently rustling through Y/N's long scarlet locks.

Lord Bolton was awaiting the Stark retinue; He took Ned aside to guide him into his council room to speak business; The servants were guided into the Fort to be houses; And Y/N remained trugging behind, looking around and exploring with the curiosity of a little fox.

It was then that she spotted that brunet runt with eyes like crystal icicles; He was staring intently at her from behind a tree. Y/N knew who that was - Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton. Her dad mentioned him, and told her to be nice to him. Of course she was gonna be nice to him - She loves Jon and treats him just like her younger brother, because that's what he is!

With a bow and quiver attached to her back, Y/N stepped towards the boy, extending her hand towards him. "You are Ramsay Snow, aren't you?" the boy looked at her, soulless, but grumbled affirmatively. "I'm Y/N. Want to come help me out with my archery?" he looked at her as if she was crazy; Y/N let out an impatient sigh, and turned on her heel. "You know the woods better than I do - I am sure you will find me once you remember how to move your feet. Left foot, right foot, and repeat."

She thus wandered into the forest, looking for a place to practice her archery; It didn't take long before she heard the noise of rapid footsteps approaching. Ramsay stood right behind her, his demeanour guarded, cold and wary - Typical for that of a mistreated bastard.

"See? I told you you'd find me easily." she let out a soft chuckle, turning her back to him and fidgeting with her bow.

The boy didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to respond to the noble girl. He’d been taught to keep his distance from highborns, especially someone like her, the daughter of the Warden of the North... But there’s something different about her, something that doesn’t seem to care about the invisible lines that separate them, about ranks or blood.

"How did you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.

"What, Bolton's bastard son?" Ramsay flinched slightly at the word, but Katrina’s tone is curious rather than cruel. She steps closer, studying him with those sharp, Stark eyes. He nods, unsure of what to expect from her. "Dad told me to be as nice to you as I am with my own bastard younger brother. Jon is a delight to have around, truly - Too bad mother can't see that." she shrugged her shoulders lazily. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I don't know how to speak to noble ladies... My Lady." he admitted begrudgingly. "Nobles aren't supposed to see a bastard like me."

"Well, you can start by calling me by my name - Y/N - And then, you can continue by coming with me and helping me out with my archery." she grinned, and before Ramsay could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, her energy infectious. Ramsay stumbled slightly, caught off guard by her boldness, but he didn’t resist. For once, he didn't protest to being dragged around - He enjoyed the physical touch from her.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy found himself speaking a little louder.

"Deeper into the forest! I need someone to help me practice. I can't hit anything if I don't have someone to fetch the arrows."

Ramsay blinked, bewildered by how casually she dismissed the divide between them. He’d never been treated like this before — Like he’s just another boy, not the bastard son of Roose Bolton. And yet, there’s something exciting about the way she was pulling him along, like he was a part of her adventure rather than an outsider.

They reached a small clearing in the woods. Katrina lets go of his wrist and unslinged her bow, not wasting any time. She lines up an arrow, but her aim is slightly off. The arrow flies past the tree trunk she was aiming at and disappears into the underbrush.

"Damn it!" Y/N stomped her foot impatiently. "This is all Robb's fault! If he hadn't told on me, I would have been able to train with Theon!" she whined so cutely, the bastard thought with amusement, watching her look around aimlessly for that arrow. "Great, it's lost. Only four left I guess." she grumbled to herself with resentment.

Ramsay hesitated for a moment, before rushing toward the underbrush. He found the arrow easily enough and returned it to her, watching as her eyes widened in awe.

"You found it - And so easily! How cool!" no one had ever praised him before - It felt really good. "You know how to shoot?" he nodded his head. "Can you teach me?"

The boy stepped to her side, raising her arms up and placing her in position. Without even realising, his hands lingered on her body; He was enjoying touching her so much, and she wasn't protesting, too focused on holding the bow and arrow properly with those small, delicate hands of hers. She was so very cute, he thought to himself, as he positioned himself in a way that almost engulfed her whole.

"You’re holding it wrong." he muttered into her ear. "Follow the trajectory of my finger - Focus on the target and hold the tip of the arrow a little above the spot you want to hit. Draw the string with an inhale, and release with an exhale." he then fixed the angle of her drawing arm. "Boys won't tell you this, but girls have this small curvature of the arm - To aim properly, you'd have to arch your arm like this... And it will improve your accuracy." he then kicked a little at her feet, getting them in position. "Posture is half the work; Stand straight... And release."

With all points ticked, Y/N released the arrow, and lodged itself close to where it was supposed to reach; It hit the tree trunk, which was all that mattered for a beginner. "Wow! Robb will be so jealous when I beat him at archery next time!" her voice went up cutely as she chirped with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot with glee. "Thank you, Ramsay, thank you!" huh... She thanked him. What a peculiar girl.

"Don't thank me until you win." he teased her. "Try again - Without my help this time." that comment stopped her in her little joy party. Right, Ramsay won't be there to help her. Damn.

Regaining posture, Y/N drew the bowstring back, feeling the difference in her stance. She released the arrow, and this time it hit the tree trunk with a satisfying thud. She did that, all by herself! She grinned, turning to Ramsay with a look of triumph and victory.

"Was that cool?!" was she asking for validation - From him?!

"Yes, My Lady, you did well." she didn't seem to notice the way he called her; She was far too absorbed into her success and practice.

Ramsay smiled for the first time in his life; a small, hesitant smile that Y/N almost missed - But she caught it, and something about that moment made her feel like she’d cracked through a layer of ice.

For once, the boy felt at ease around another human being, even if that person was an eleven year old brazen noble lady who tried to best her younger brothers at silly things like archery and swordsmanship. Wasn't she supposed to learn embroidery and other girly things? Well, now that he thought it over, Ramsay was sure most noble Lords wouldn't take their daughters with them on delegations; They'd take their sons, right? It only meant Lord Stark loved his daughter very much, he noted. Not that he'd know what that was - Surely, the little haughty thing was going to forget all about him.

As the sun began to set, Ramsay realised he had to escort the young lady back, before either her father worries, or his father thinks he murdered her. That bloody monster - He hated his father more than he hated anyone alive. He was going to get the most miserable death there is.

For dinner, however, Ramsay wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the nobles; Y/N's mother also didn't want Jon to sit with the rest of the children... So in that regard, she could understand the miserable, spiteful look on Ramsay's face. It was Y/N and Robb who begged their dad to allow Jon and Theon to eat with them... But Y/N was afraid of Roose Bolton and his terrifying icy glare - He was empty, and ruthless, just like a harsh blizzard.

In a way, Y/N was glad they'll only be staying one more night in this awful place... But she would dearly miss her new friend. She wonders if she'll ever see him again - Hopefully, yes!

The night settled swiftly over the cold stone halls of the Dreadfort - The place was deathly silent, save for the scary howling wind and the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, terrifying shadows all around.

Ramsay was lying on the bed, half-asleep, and thinking over the events of the day - His mind was obsessively settled on the young noble lady who treated him so well, who smiled so sweetly at him... Who felt so good in his arms. He loved how she dragged him all around, and grinned so enthusiastically; How she thanked him for helping her with archery... In his perverse mind, he wanted to bury his hands in that gorgeous mess of long red hair and pull her into his arms, never to let go ever again; He wanted to squish her in his arms until she explode, that's how cute she was; He wanted to slam his lips against hers and kiss her until she had no more air in her lungs, and her body was bruised and imprinted with his hands all over.

Not once did he expect to hear the heavy door of his sparsely furnished cold room creaking open, revealing the very girl he was fantasising over, wearing a thick nightgown and holding tightly a fur-lined cloaked draped over her small shoulders; Her wild hair was even more tousled than before.

The air is cold, a reminder of the unforgiving northern weather. Ramsay’s small, sparsely furnished room is dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before walking in - The boy, already on edge, bolted right up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His first thought was that an assassin was trying to get him, or his father wanted to beat him half to death -

But no. It was the object of his obsessions. Y/N stepped forward, letting the dim light of the fireplace reveal her nervous face. The boy's stiffness melted away, and he leaned forward to look at her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice as cold as that of his father.

Y/N offered a small, sheepish smile, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved closer to his bed. "I don't like sleeping alone. It's cold and scary here." she said, moving her bare feet closer to the bed. "Can I sleep in your room... Please?"

Ramsay blinked in shock, still processing her presence. It was not every day that a noble’s daughter sneaked into his room in the middle of the night, asking to spend the night. He shifted, making space on the bed as Y/N climbed on... The sheep walked right into the wolf's den.

"I thought noble ladies weren't allowed alone in a room with a boy - A lowly bastard, no less. Who knows what I'll do to you." she looked at him all confused and innocent - Of course she had no idea what he was talking about; No one tells noble ladies what men want to do to them... How they want to ravage them...

"No one has to know I am here." she smiled sweetly. "Besides - I had something for you." all of his wicked thoughts dispersed on the spot, thinking what it could be that she brought - For him! He felt a weird warmth spread through his chest - And much below also; He watched attentively as Y/N revealed a small tray filled with desserts from inside her cloak - All the sweet desserts a bastard son like him wasn't allowed to eat, from the dinner he wasn't allowed to attend.

"I am sorry... Your father scared me too much... I was too much of a coward to ask him to let you dine with us." she said in a tender, guilty voice, placing the plate on the bed for him to try out the cakes. "At home, mother doesn't want to see Jon and Theon, our ward, eat with us... So I and Robb begged dad to let them eat with us, and he agreed." she messed up her already rousled hair. "Forgive me."

Ramsay looked deep into her eyes, making her look away with a blush; She didn't seem to like holding eye-contact, he realised; He was intimidating her with his usually cold and empty expression - Just like his father. She was afraid of his father - And rightfully so; But he didn't want her to be afraid of him too; He wanted Lady Y/N to like him, to love him, to want him and only him.

"It's a man's job to protect his woman, Y/N, not the other way around." he let out a small, sardonic chuckle. "I can't blame you for being scared of my Lord Father. I know he can look rather... Intimidating."

"But... It's not right... And regardless of the circumstances of your birth, you should not be treated any less. You deserve better than this." Ramsay's body grew ever hotter the more she spoke, and were it not for his self-control, who knows what he would have done to this little fox girl. She was far too cute for her own good... Far too nice... And nice girls always end up the worst, because of monsters like him.

But it was fine. He was a monster, but he would protect her. His mind was settled - Y/N was his, and only his.

"Are you not cold?" she asked all of a sudden; He had forgotten he was wearing no shirt, and his body was in full view. She was worried about him, how cute of her.

"I am a man of the North, Y/N. This is how I sleep every night." he let himself fall back on the bed, casually eating some of those little cakes. "You're just cold because you're a girl, and you're all frail and mellow. You need a man's heat to keep you warm through the night." he ended with a cocky smirk addressed her way.

"Is that so?" she hummed softly. "Prove to me that you are right, then." how cheeky she was, Ramsay thought to himself, watching with shock as the little vixen laid herself so carefree in his arms; Her hand was placed comfortably on his shoulder, and she nestled herself on his side. "Keep me warm."

"What a playful little minx." he scoffed, watching her so cutely clinging to his body. He reveled in the silence broken only by him enjoying the cakes she brought over, and soon enough, in her rhythmic slow breathing - She had fallen asleep so easily, he was truly mesmerised. She was so cute and little compared to him, he realised once again.

As the candle flickered and the night deepened, Ramsay stood awake for a little while longer, his mind racing with wild thoughts and feeling he's never experienced before. Eventually, however, the warmth of her presence lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep, yet holding a small smile of triumph on his face.

The very next day, early in the morning, Lady Y/N sneaked out of Ramsay's room and went back into her own so no one would suspect a thing. She received breakfast in bed and her maid helped her dressed and get ready for another exciting day spent with Ramsay.

This time, the bastard thought he'd show off - He brought her to the kennels to his the hounds. It was his idea to raise dogs to hunt and guard the place and what not; The kennel master was a middle-aged man full of experience... But his daughter was an annoying little girl around his age. She wanted to appear strong and rough around him... To show off. Why, he couldn't quite understand - He was pretty sure girls this age weren't so interested in boys and their bodies - Unlike boys wanting desperately to see girls naked.

Lady Y/N was cheeky, yes, but she was gracious also; Myranda, on the other hand, was a disgrace... A disgrace that Ramsay loved to humiliate. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that she also enjoyed that kind of treatment in a rather profound way.

The kennels were dark and chilly, filled with low rumbles and growls, and the smell of straw and wet dog fur. The light filtered through narrow, creaked windows... Y/N didn't think it was a nice place for dogs to stay at, but at least they were protected from the snow, wind and cold outside.

Much to Ramsay's dismay, Myranda was there, tending to the dogs and snapping at them every once in a while; She wasn't stern - She was harsh and cruel; The exact opposite of Lady Stark, who had a natural affinity for animals, and the gift of warmth and compassion to all living beings.

With a protective arm holding Y/N firm into his chest, he showed off his dogs; Most of them were females, large, with long fur, and highly aggressive. "What do you think about my bitches, Y/N? They make the best hunters, not the mutts." he spoke cockily. "And they know to obey only their master."

Y/N's visage was tender and soft; With no fear, she approached one of the dogs who had just given birth, and her puppies were sucking at her teats. She knelt by her side; The dog's menacing growls all but dissipated once she sniffed the lady's hand, allowing her to pet her head.

"What a gorgeous mommy you are, darling! Oh, but you must be cold - Your little ones too!" Y/N took off her cloak, draping her mother dog nicely in it. "There - Isn't it better? Nice and toasty!"

Ramsay watched the interaction with a mix of shock and fascination - He was so used to commanding the dogs through fear and dominance, that he hadn't expected the dogs to listen so quickly to a gentle word. Was it the Wolf's blood coursing through her veins that made her a canine whisperer? Or was it simply that sweet voice of her that bewitched even him? "I’ve never seen them act like that. They usually tear anyone apart who gets too close."

Y/N smiled sweetly, scratching the dog behind her ears, completely at ease. "They’re just like people, but trust-worthy and reliable. If you show them kindness, they’ll return it. They’re not so different from us, really."

Before Ramsay can respond, a harsh voice cut through the air. Myranda, holding a leash, stood at the other end of the kennel, glaring at Y/n with undisguised jealousy. She tugged on the leash, yanking a dog that was already straining against her rough grip. "They’re not pets, they’re beasts. You can’t trust them with soft words, or they’ll turn on you. That one already bit me once."

The dog on the leash cowered, her tail between her legs as Myranda yanked it towards her. Y/N frowned, rising to her feet. The bastard didn't think even a small, little girl like her could hold such an undeniable presence and imposing aura. "Maybe if you weren’t so harsh, they wouldn’t bite. They’re only reacting to how you treat them."

Myranda’s face flushed with anger, her grip tightening on the leash. She sneered at Y/N, her eyes dark with resentment and spite. "What would you know about it? You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand anything about the real world." How dare that obnoxious slut speak like that to his darling little fox? She was his - His only - And no one was allowed to treat her like this. Ramsay, sensing the tension, steps forward. His expression shifts, a cold smirk curling his lips as he looked at Myranda, enjoying the sudden shift in her demeanour; Immediately meek and pathetic. It was time to put her back in her place.

"Watch your tongue, Myranda. What's the filthy peasant daughter of the kennel master, compared to the Wolf Lady herself?" he hissed at the girl who immediately went quiet; She flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes were wide and hurt. She was used to his cruel streak, but it still stung in the sweetest way... But to be scolded like that in front of that little whore...

"I... I didn’t mean anything by it, Ramsay. I just—" she was at a loss for words; Her mind was empty as always, the boy remarked spitefully.

"Didn't mean anything, you say - Any other noble would have your tongue for speaking ill of Lady Y/N Stark; You should fall on your knees and seek forgiveness. She is graceful, don't you think? If it were me, well... We both know what I like to do with disobedient cunts like you, don't you, Myranda?" his gargoyle eyes stared emptily into her own tearful eyes; Somewhere lower, she noticed the subtle way the bastard showed off a small knife that she knew very well was used to flay. She gulped, hanging her head low, and trembling pathetically. "I'm waiting, Myranda - Where is that apology?"

As Myranda bit her lip, holding back the tears of her weakness, Y/N sighed, walking in front of her; Though Y/N was smaller than her, she still placed her hand gently on her hand. "It's fine - She's not wrong. I couldn't possibly be knowledgeable in dogs than someone who was raised in the arts of dog-raising. The only difference is the approach - I have a different approach in caring for my animals, and it has proven far more reliable than ruling with an iron fist." her voice was soft and tender. "Raise your head. No need to ask for forgiveness. Just make sure they are all well taken care of." with a graceful twirl, Y/N turned to her friend and hooked her arm to his, guiding him out into the forest.

"If I was in her place, I'd have shot you when you turned your back at me." he grumbled harshly under his breath.

"She wouldn't have dared, and neither would you - Not for as long as I am Lady Stark, and mine own Lord Father is here, on the very premises... Not unless you want to meet a fate worse than death." oh, that wicked smirk of her, so different than anything sweet and tender she embodied thus far; The twisted grin of a rabid fox, not the sweet smile of a flower.

"What would you know, the little flower knows how to play to her political strength. How adorable." he huffed, pulling her into his side harshly. "Politics aside, you are still just a frail little thing that can break so easily... It would be a pity if anyone did anything to hurt you..."

"So what, you are saying you want to protect me?" she scoffed at him; Though her question was genuine, and his answer even more so.

"Yes." once they were deep into the forest, he held her in a painfully tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck; She smelled sweet, like honey and flowers... It only made him want to taste her even more. "Always, and forever."

Just like the previous night, Y/N had snuck out of her room again, her small feet padding silently across the cold stone floor. The Dreadfort, with its bleak atmosphere, had never bothered her, not with Ramsay nearby. Tonight, though, was different. It was her last night here, and the thought of leaving him behind made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Ramsay was her friend, and though the Dreadfort wasn't too far away from Winterfell, it was unbecoming of a young Lady to go out of her way to visit a bastard... She wouldn't be allowed to.

She slipped into Ramsay’s room, finding him lying on his bed, shirtless, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched her approach, just like a predator seeing delicious prey walk willingly inside his lair.

“You’re not supposed to be here, little fox.” he drawled, the nickname slipping from his lips with ease.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small pout formed on her lips as she climbed in bed next to him. “I don’t care. It’s too cold in my room, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Ramsay smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was shirtless again. “Afraid of the dark, are we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his playful words.

She stuck her tongue out at him but nodded nonetheless, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am used to sleeping with my siblings."

"Fine, fine, little rose, I won't tease you about it - After all, you've come to seek my protection; How can I tease a lovely little lady such as yourself." she blushed softly at her new nickname, looking away but said nothing. “You know, sweetling..." Ramsay began, his voice dripping with mischief. “Did you know there are things that boys and girls do together when they’re older. Things you wouldn’t even imagine.” he leaned closer to her body, his bare chest against her back; His hand found itself playing with a velvety lock of red hair - It was quite addicting. SHE was addicting.

Y/N turned her head a little to look at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”

His grin widened, enjoying the way her innocent mind struggled to grasp the meaning behind his words... His intentions. “Oh, nothing you’d understand now...” he said, his tone teasing. “But one day, when you’re older… I could teach you.”

Y/N tilted her head, still perplexed. “Teach me what?”

Ramsay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What boys and girls do together when they’re alone. It’s something… Special.”

She blinked at him, her confusion deepening. “Like playing games?”

He chuckled, a dark sound that made her shiver despite the warmth of his presence. "I suppose... A game only for grown-ups.”

Katrina pouted, feeling as though he was making fun of her. “I’m not that young, Ramsay. Mother said I am old enough to flower soon - That makes me an adult in the eyes of the noble families.”

He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “And when that time comes, sweetling, I’ll make sure you know everything.”

The thought of Y/N flowering soon... The thought of making her his own... It made his body all hot and greedy. Some day, when she becomes a woman, he wanted to be the one to claim her; Her one and only; The only man she ever looks at. But he was a bastard, and she was the eldest daughter of the Stark Family... How the hell could he make her his, forever?

It was a maddening thought... That his bastard label would keep him away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. There was no way any man would be capable of taking care of her the way only HE could. No one could make her as happy as he can. No one can understand her the way he does.

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something in his tone, something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her feel uneasy... But also, enticed. Curious. Addicted. Still, she trusted him. He was her friend, after all... And will forever be her friend... Whether he wants to or not. What Lady Y/N Stark wanted, she got, even if she had to force the hands of fate to achieve her goals.

Ramsay, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, decided to push her just a little further. “You should just enjoy being a little girl, for now, all innocent and pure like a dove. Don’t worry about what happens when you’re older.” he hummed, his low, husky voice, whispering in her ear, making her shudder and blush. "I'll take care of everything."

Katrina huffed, turning her face away from him. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a strange thrill through him. He sneaked his arms around her body, pulling her into his chest; One hand was holding strongly onto her small body, while the other held her jaw, firm but gentle. “Noble men don't know horseshite about these things - They're all stupid, but have the pride of lions and cockiness like no other. They think they know the game well, but they are shamefully bad... And without an experienced man to teach them, you, noble ladies, are all cute and confused, losing the game...” ah, tsk tsk, bad Ramsay, he was talking too much when he shouldn't... Not now.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re just trying to confuse me.” she huffed, quite like a brat, getting out of his clutches and drawing the blanket over her.

Ramsay watched her for a moment, his smirk fading as he realized she was serious about ignoring him. She couldn't ignore her. She wasn't allowed to. She was supposed to look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers - To look at him, and only him.

The silence stretched on, and something dark and possessive flared up inside him. He hated being ignored, especially by her. Desperate for her attention, he threw the blanket off of her, pinning her down on the bed before she could react. He straddled her waist, his hands holding her wrists above her head as he loomed over her.

Y/N gasped in surprise, her wide eyes locking with his - Finally, she was looking at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name.

Ramsay’s smirk returned - He enjoyed looking down at her like that, her face all innocent and confused, so damn precious. "Ramsay...?" don't talk to him in that sweet voice... Don't... He'll lose control... He will...

To stop his own wicked thoughts and urges, he started tickling her sides mercilessly. Y/N squealed, her laughter filling the room as she squirmed beneath him, trying in vain to escape his grasp. This wasn't any better, he noted; It only made him more desperate to touch her, to hold her... To...

“Ramsay, stop!” she begged, her voice breathless with laughter - He only tickled her harder, delighting in her helplessness. There was something so special about ignoring such lovely pleas.

In her desperate attempts to defend herself, Y/N’s nails raked across his arm, deep enough to draw blood. Ramsay hissed at the sharp sting, letting out a surprising sound of pleasure... Surprising even for him... but he didn’t stop tickling her until she was breathless and teary-eyed from laughing and her body aching for freedom and mercy.

Finally, he relented, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and something darker... Victory, triumph... Y/N panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath - Yet her eyes widened when she saw the red lines on his arm, painting his pale arm a lovely shade of crimson red.

“Ramsay...! I’m sorry - I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” she shot up, her voice small as she reached out to touch the scratch she had left.

Ramsay caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful. He looked at the blood, then at her, a strange expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” he said, though the intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter with unease. “Just a mark... A precious little reminder.”

“A reminder? Of what?” she asked, confused, watching him lick the blood leaking down his skin.

His smirk returned, though there was something almost possessive in his eyes. “That you, little Kitten, are all mine, and only mine; Even when you leave, you’ll still be mine." he wiped some of the blood his his thumb, and unexpectedly, he pressed it gently against her bottom lip - Pink turning red - Then a little inside, touching her tongue. "You want us to be together, don't you, My Lady?" he got closer to her face, now both hands cupping her small face carefully. "Always and forever."

"Yes... I want us to be friends... Forever." he wanted to kiss those plump dewy lips so bad, but he couldn't; Not not. She was driving him crazy... A twisted child with nefarious cravings and desires... And all his obsessions channeled into a single being... A precious little kitten who loves to scratch him. "Always and forever." he kissed her forehead gently, almost as if he was sealing an unspoken vow between them.

The bastard of Dreadfort wasn't happy to see his cute little kitten leave; But he couldn't do anything about it - Not yet. He lingered in the back, far away, and watched as her horse disappeared into the horizon. He knew it was going to be an awful day for him. He just knew.

The atmosphere was terrible all around the fort, heavy with the chill of winter and the unspoken tension that has settled over the castle. Ramsay remained in his small room, reflecting on the recent visit, the fleeting moments of warmth with Lady Y/N still fresh in his mind.

Every time his mind lingered back on their closeness, his body grew all hot and restless; He felt himself going crazy, needing to touch himself to relieve the pressure building inside his stomach; His core was all knots and ache.

He couldn't though... He couldn't... He had to hold on... It wasn't night yet, and he risked anyone barging inside his room... But he needed her so badly... Her scorching touch on his ice-cold skin... Those sweet, soft rose petal lips on his rough, chapped ones... Her small body, all cute and frail under his own... At his mercy...

His rapid thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room. His heart quickened even more, a sense of dread creeping in. He knew what was going to happen, and he dreaded every second of it.

The door opened, and Roose Bolton stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever... But Ramsay knew better than to trust the calm before the storm.

"Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Ramsay?" those harsh eyes bore silently into him, carving his heart out.

"No... Father." he muttered under his breath, getting off the bed and standing in front of his father, his head hung, but jaw clenched in anger and humiliation.

"Is that so?" the boy remained quiet. "I’ve heard... Things, Ramsay. Things I don’t like."

Ramsay tensed, his eyes meeting his father’s cold, manipulative gaze. He knew what was coming, and though he’s experienced his father’s wrath before, the dread never really faded. He tried to stand taller, to show no weakness, but the apprehension was clear in his voice.

"Lady Y/N wanted to talk to me. She was bored with no child her age around, so she dragged me to be her companion. I couldn't refuse the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark..." he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to; He was desperate for her attention, after all. It was only by luck that he captured her attention so easily - And by fate, he will continue aligning with her, no matter what obstacles jump in his way.

Roose’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the subject of his deepest disappointments and shame, who instinctively took a step back. "In case you've forgotten - You’re a lowly bastard, Ramsay. You might be my son by blood, but you will never be a Bolton in the eyes of the world." he spat at his son who flinched habitually. "Your place is not with the likes of her. You forget yourself too easily. We are lucky Lord Stark didn't have your head for tainting his precious daughter's air."

The words cut deep into his heart, a reminder of the bitter truth Ramsay always tried to ignore... But this time, they stung more than usual, because for a moment, Y/N made him believe he could be something more.

"Lady Y/N said Lord Stark agreed to allow the bastard and the ward to dine at the same table as his legitimate children. They treat them like their own flesh and blood..." the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted his impertinence. Roose’s expression darkened further, his patience wearing thin.

"You fool - How dare you fall in love with a noblewoman?! You think Lord Stark would ever allow his eldest daughter to marry some filthy low-life like you and take his riches? His noble name? Have you lost your mind, child? This is not how I raised you." his voice boomed painfully through the echoing empty stone walls of his room. "Love and foolishness are weakness, Ramsay, and I will not tolerate either in my son."

Before Ramsay could react, Roose’s hand struck him, delivering a sharp backhand across Ramsay’s face - The force of the blow sent him stumbling, crashing into the bedside table, the candle tumbling to the floor. Pain spread across his cheek, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed as Roose grabbed him by the neck, dragging him back to his feet.

"You are my son, Ramsay, and you will do as I say. I will not have you ruin yourself over foolish maiden dreams of love and marriage . You are a tool, nothing more - And I will carve you into something useful, no matter how much you resist." Ramsay tried to fight back, to push against his father’s grip, but he was no match for Roose’s strength and iron grip.

The beating that followed was brutal, each strike a lesson in obedience, in submission, a reminder of the cruelty that defines his existence. He tried not to cry out, to show no weakness - And he did just that. Ramsay utter no sound through it all.

When Roose finally released him, Ramsay crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his body battered and bruised. Roose looked down at him, his expression harsh and unforgiving.

"Remember this, Ramsay - You are nothing but my bastard son, and you will learn your place, or I will teach it to you until you understand."

Roose left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ramsay was left alone, the echoes of his father’s words ringing in his ears, the pain throbbing through his body. He remained there, motionless on the ground and growling like a rabid animal.

Hours passed before Ramsay finally moved, dragging himself back onto the bed, wincing with every motion. He stares at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions — Anger, shame, dread.

He thought of Y/N, of her kindness, of the way she treated him like he was worth something. That memory was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness, but it was also a source of pain, a reminder of what he can never have...

He clenched his fists, the pain in his body overshadowed by the rage building inside him. He hated his father, hated the world that condemned him to this life, hated the fact that he was born a bastard - But most of all, he hated that he cared — That he yearned for something more, something better.

"I will make them pay." the words were whispered into the darkness, a promise to himself. "I will kill them all." he punched the ground with his fist until it became a bloody mess - Yet he felt no pain at all, only wrath.

He knew he couldn't change the circumstances of his birth, but he could at least take control of his life. He could become what his father wanted — A lethal weapon - But he will do so on his terms; And one day, when he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts him again, he will walk forward to force all of his wishes to come true...

Even if that meant kidnapping Lady Y/N Stark and marrying her in secret.

Three years down the line, Y/N was now 14 years of age, and putting her brothers to shame when it came to archery and hunting; Thus, they all agreed they would have a hunting competition, to which, albeit reticently, their father agreed.

Three whole days spent in the Wolfswood; The one who brings the most game wins the contest - Thus, Theon, Y/N, Robb and Jon rode confidently into the forest.

The Wolfswood was a dense, ancient forest stretching between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - She felt so close, yet so far from her best friend; Alas, she couldn't afford to think of him. She had to win. The woods were thick, the towering trees created a canopy that blocked out much of the sky, leaving only slivers of light to pierce the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and distant cries of creatures every now and again.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing where Y/N had set up her camp. She’d done well so far, managing to bring down two deer, a boar and a few smaller game, which were now tied securely to a tree. Her brothers were likely doing just as well, but she was determined to win. She had to. If she won, she would forever get rid of her brothers' teasing, or them telling her to return to embroidering. How bothersome.

After finishing her meal, she moved cautiously around the perimeter of her camp, checking the traps she’d set earlier; They were simple, designed more to alert her to danger than to catch anything significant. As she returned to the fire, she couldn't help but shiver slightly. It wasn't the cold that bothered her, but the darkness pressing in around her.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she settled down by a large tree, its sturdy trunk at her back. The fire crackled, offering some comfort, but the night was still intimidating. She tried to focus on her goal — Winning the competition, proving she was just as capable as her brothers - But the fear of being alone in the dark was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind.

Just as she began to relax, the snap of a trap echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud, furious string of curses. Y/N’s heart leaped into her throat, and she instinctively grabbed her bow, an arrow quickly nocked. Her eyes darted around the shadows until she spotted the source of the commotion.

Hanging upside down by his leg, thrashing and cursing loudly, was Ramsay Snow.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her grip on the bow loosening as she lowered the weapon. “Ramsay?!” she muttered, barely believing her eyes.

Ramsay twisted around, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Who else would be stupid enough to get caught in one of your traps, Kitten?”

Finally getting over her shock, Y/N dropped her bow and rushed over, pulling out her knife to cut the rope. Ramsay landed with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his ankle. She knelt beside him, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?!” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ramsay looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face despite the pain. “I’ve had worse - But really, trapping people now? I didn’t know you’d gotten so ruthless.”

She blushed, embarrassed that she’d caught him of all people. “It wasn’t meant for you! I just didn’t want anything sneaking up on me.”

Ramsay chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “And you did a fine job of that." he stepped towards her, and lazily rested his arms on her shoulders, leaning on her body to the point of making her stumble over her feet from his weight. "You could have just asked for help instead of trying to do all this alone.”

Y/N looked at him, his face so close to her own that she could feel her breath. "I genuinely didn't think I would meet you again - Not like this, at least." her voice was so tender and soft; Oh, how he missed her voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her. "Yes, I was sad not getting a visit for three whole years... Though now that I look at you, all sadness magically vanished." he smirked at her, his expression confident and cocky. "You still look like a child compared to me."

"You will always be older than me, Ramsay - What exactly do you want me to do about it?" she breathed out, slowly analysing him; He grew up so much in three years... He looked gorgeous. Gorgeous, and deranged. Those crystal clear eyes were swimming with craziness, only highlighted by the peeking moonlight caressing his already pale face.

"Grow up!" with a swift power move, he grabbed her body and lifted her in the air, reveling in the cutesy squeals of her surprise, and the strong grip she held on his shoulders. Little kitten loved to dig her nails in his flesh, how exciting.

"How about you help me win, instead?!" she cried out. "Now please, put me down - And help me out, please!" begrudgingly, he did just that, dragging her to the fire, where she explained the premise of their contest... And how adorable she was, admitting to still feeling afraid of the dark, clinging onto him so adorably.

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased with her bagging for his help so sweetly. “Of course, Kitten. I’ll make sure you have a little… advantage.”

"Meow." she meowed! She... Meowed, of all things! How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she was being so adorable?! It had been three whole years since they last saw each other; She grew even more beautiful than he expected, than he imagined - And now, he can't even touch her! How unnerving.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in Ramsay’s presence. Though he teased her mercilessly, there was something reassuring about having him by her side - And though she didn’t realize it yet, Ramsay was just as glad to be there with her, the thrill of the hunt only heightened by the prospect of spending the night together in the wild - In the shadows of the Wolfswood, their bond deepened, forged in the darkness and sealed by the blood they would spill together.

Since then, every fortnight, until she would turn 17 years of age, they would meet in their special spot in the Wolfswood. Eddard and Cat sometimes spotted her sneaking away, but they could never get her to say a thing - She was praying in the Godswood or something - No one would believe her.

It was a fortnight after the hunting competition when Y/N first returned to the Wolfswood alone. The memory of Ramsay helping her secure that precious victory over her brothers still lingered in her mind, and she found herself drawn back to the forest, eager to see him again. As she rode into the familiar clearing, she noticed the way the trees seemed to close in around her, the shadows long and deep. She dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree, and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close before she could react. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she struggled instinctively, but then she heard his familiar chuckle in her ear.

“Miss me, Kitten?” Ramsay’s voice was a low, teasing murmur.

Y/N relaxed slightly, though she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Ramsay, you scared me!” she whined, trying and failing to push him away from her.

“That was the point.” he replied, his arms still holding her securely. “It’s no fun if you see me coming.”

She turned in his arms to face him, her expression both annoyed and amused. “One of these days, I’ll get the jump on you.”

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased by her challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Each meeting after that became a game — A test of wits and skill - For the bastard, that is. Ramsay would always arrive first, hiding in the shadows of the forest, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes he would leap out from behind a tree, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise; Other times, he would sneak up silently, wrapping his arms around her waist or pinning her against a tree before she even realized he was there.

With each encounter, Ramsay’s touches grew bolder. He would linger behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, or let his fingers brush against her hair as they walked together through the forest. Y/N, now 16, was aware of his increasing boldness, but she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her. She was beginning to understand all those suspicious things he would tell her as children - To think he would be so bold and knowledgeable since so long ago... His advances were teasing, playful and straight-forward, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension each time he touched her.

Ramsay seemed to revel in her reactions, his smirk ever-present as he found new ways to surprise and corner her. He would pin her to the ground during their mock fights, holding her down as she struggled and laughed, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite understand. Other times, he would push her against a tree, their faces inches apart, his breath warm against her skin as he teased her mercilessly.

As the years passed, their meetings became a constant in their lives. No matter what happened between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, they always returned to the Wolfswood, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

She began bringing her pets— A red wolf named Meleys after the Red Dragon Queen, and a fox named Jade to match her eyes; Meleys, with her fiery fur and fierce loyalty, would growl softly at Ramsay whenever he got too close, while Jade, more curious than cautious, would dart around their feet, sniffing at Ramsay with mild interest, yapping to play with him, or to garner his affections.

One night, after a rather intense wrestling onto the ground that left Y/N pinned beneath Ramsay, her wrists above her head, unable to move and breathing hard, struggling to break free, she managed scratched him, again, drawing blood - This time, it was his neck instead. The sight of the single scarlet line against his pale skin made her freeze, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh no, not again!" she got naturally worried. "I told you not to tease me so much - Now I hurt you! I'm so sorry!"

Ramsay, however, only laughed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. He grabbed her in his arms, holding her chin. “Looks like you’ve marked me again, Kitten.” he said, his voice a low purr. “Afraid I forgot who you belonged to?”

Katrina flushed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t fully understand the weight of his words, but the way he looked at her made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain. "Let me wipe the blood... I should put some snow on it to stop the bleeding..."

"Or you could be a good little Kitten and lick the blood away." his affirmation shocked the girl so much that she almost didn't realise she was pulled into his lap, her chest flush against his own. "Or... My Lady doesn't want to take accountability for her actions~?"

"That's... That's weird, I can't... I'm not..." he grabbed her face, fixing it to look deep into her eyes.

"What a naughty, naughty Kitten you've been... You wouldn't want me to punish you... Or... Mayhaps that is exactly what you wish for~?" the blush on her cheeks was as beautifully red as her hair; She was so precious and shy, how sweet... And how hard to resist.

"F-Fine... Stay still..." with reticence, she carefully held onto him, one hand holding his jaw up, and the other keeping herself steady by holding onto his shoulder.

The feeling of her hot, wet tongue trailing the small scratch line along his neck garnered a strong shiver from the young man, and a shameless groan of pleasure; Such a sound, so primal, so masculine, it made Y/N feel even more timid... And intrigued. She wanted to hear more... To make him react more.

She continued in her conquest, using instead her lips, kissing at his skin until there was no more blood leaking down... Each kiss made his grip on her body get stronger to the point of pain... But she loved it. She loved how feral Ramsay could get, so strong, so unchained... So arousing. And then, once she held onto him tighter, and her kisses turned bolder, nipping away at his skin, sucking on it, he was desperate... So desperate, in fact, that he had to roughly push her away and place snow on his neck to cool down his scorching body, or he was sure to burst and make a mess of his breeches... Or worse, force her down and claim her. It wasn't how he wanted her to look at him... But it wasn't easy to hold back around her.

"Never do that again, sweetling - Not to anyone, except me."

As the time approached for Y/N to turn 17, their meetings in the Wolfswood took on a new tension. Ramsay’s touches became more lingering, his teasing words more loaded with meaning. He would hold her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered things that made her cheeks burn. He wanted her so desperately, but there was no way he would destroy the way she craves him so, by taking her against the tree in the forest.

During their last meeting before her birthday, Ramsay surprised her by sneaking up behind her as she sat by a stream, lost in thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him as he nuzzled her neck.

“You’ve gotten better at sneaking up on me.” Katrina admitted, her voice betraying the mix of emotions she felt.

Ramsay smirked, his breath warm against her skin. “I love seeing you squeal for me, My Lady."

She tried to pull away, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, but he held her fast, his hands firm on her waist. “What do boys and girls do together when they’re old enough?” he had teased her many times before, always with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Y/N had never fully understood the implications, but she knew enough to feel a flutter of something in her chest — Something that made her both curious and uneasy - The same wicked thing she felt, kissing his neck, and witnessing his raw reactions. That was what happened to young people whose parents never told them how babies were made... And, worse... Parents who never knew how pleasure was made.

“When you’re old enough, I’ll show you.” Ramsay had once promised, his voice dark and mischievous. "I will show you something even better than the games boys and girls do when they're alone." Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the opportunity to show her the hedonistic world of pleasure he succumbed himself into... The world in which he wanted to drown together... For she was forced to join the retinue to King's Landing and search for a proper marriage prospect... Fit for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

Y/N was always looking forward to the routine her and Ramsay created for themselves, meeting at the same spot once every two weeks, and catching up, havin fun... She was always the happiest when around him... And yet, this time, Y/N was troubled... Desperate, frustrated, angry, betrayed...

She dismounted from her horse with a heavy heart, her hands trembling as she tied the reins to a nearby tree. Meleys, her red wolf, and Jade, her pet fox, followed closely behind her, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She had come to the clearing many times over the years, but this time felt different... The finality of an ephemeral bliss hung over her neck like a guillotine.

Ramsay was already there, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, as always, filled with playful malice and mischief, ready to torment his sweet flower - Though, as she approached him, he straightened, his posture tense, as though bracing himself for the bad news brought by a black raven. In the past three years, not once had he seen her this miserable... This... Sorrowful.

“What's gotten my naughty little Kitten so pissed? No more drapes to scratch? Or human flesh is the only thing that can satisfy you now?” he spoke in his usual dark, taunting voice, but for once, his teasing didn't seem to have the intended effect - Or any at all, for what matters.

Y/N didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. H he greeted her, his voice rougher than usual. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were puffy pink and glazed with tears, her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, and her mind lost in thought. He couldn't stand this look on her. She was supposed to be sweet and smile, to be energetic and filled with vitality, to jump on his and scratch him, to cuddle into his arms and purr so lovingly;

She did none of that.

"What's the matter? Daddy found us out?" he scoffed a question, but she merely shook her head. "So?" she said nothing. "Go on. Speak." still nothing. "I do not appreciate this, Y/N."

She nodded in response, unable to find her voice at first. The words she had rehearsed so many times in her mind now seemed hollow, insufficient for the gravity of the moment. In his rage and frustration, Ramsay roughly grabbed the girl by the furs of her dress, wrestling her to the ground into the soothingly cold snow; His hands were holding tightly onto her shoulders, his face twisted into a malicious sneer - Yet one look into her devastated eyes... Her hopelessness... And he was immediately simmered down.

"The King came over a few days ago." she stammered pitifully over her words. "Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died... And he wants daddy to become the next Hand..." with great difficulty, she managed to utter some words.

"What's that got to do with you?" he hissed under his breath, his eyes not even once flickering away from her own.

"My daddy was forced to accept... Thus, he has to stay in King's Landing." he slowly nodded his head, as if to urge her to continue. "Sansa fell in love with the King's son, Joffrey... I told her he's a real cunt, that he's not the gallant prince she dreams of, from 'The Ballad of Florian and Jonquil'... But she wouldn't listen... She wants to marry him..." she gulped, tears streaming down her face. "She is barely eleven... Hasn't even flowered yet..."

"You were eleven when I met you." Ramsay noted, earning a nod from her. "You are seventeen now, and still an unwed maiden. The eldest Lady Stark." she cringed softly at the affirmation. "They want to trade you to some rich old fuck, like a piece of meat." she nodded again. "How miserable."

"I don't want to go, Ramsay." she whimpered so pitifully, that the young man found his body growing hot. "I want to stay with you - Forever. The North is my home... I-I can't stay there... I can't..."

"A flower of the North, uprooted and forced to wilt in the stench and stifling heat of the South." he muttered under his breath.

"Mother has been furious for a while that daddy let me unmarried for so long... He wanted me to fall in love and marry someone I wanted... But my mother, married out of duty, also wanted me to do the same... Just like the Tully word - Family, Duty, Honour - ... Marry, have many heirs, do your duties..." he had never seen her cry before, but now, she clinged onto him, sobbing into the crook of her neck, so desperately and pitifully that he almost couldn't understand her. "I don't want to marry some pathetic lordling! I don't want to give birth! I don't want it - Any of it!" she whined and mewled like that some more; Ramsay's grip tightened around her protectively... Possessively... And then... "I want you, Ramsay! I want only you! I want to be you friend, I want to have fun with you, I want to marry you - I want to stay with you forever - Forever and Always!"

His breathing was heavy, picking up a little; He dragged her on his lap, and held her so tightly to his chest that she almost got lost inside his strong embrace. "That's right, little Kitten. You are mine, and only mine. No one can have you. No one but me." he grumbled in her ear, his hand burying into her hair, holding her firmly. "Did they find some shit lord yet?" annoyingly enough, she nodded her head.

"Tyrion Lannister... The Imp." she whimpered lowly. "He is a witty and respectful man... I would have a content life with him... He wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want..." she hiccuped from sobbing. "But he isn't you. No one is you. And I want only you."

The thought of losing her — Of her being taken away to a place where he couldn’t reach her—stoked the fire of his rage once more. “And you brought your pets over to let me take care of them, then?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't want your pets, Y/N. I want you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had known for years that Ramsay’s feelings for her were intense, even possessive, but this was the first time he had spoken so plainly. She felt more tears slip down her cheek as she looked up at him, her vision blurred by the emotion she had tried so hard to contain.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re mine, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a dark promise. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, wanting to believe him— To believe that they could find a way to be together, despite the forces of the universe pulling them apart. She knew how difficult it would be - Escaping King's Landing was close to blasphemy; She knew the expectations placed upon her as a Stark, and the dangers of being tied to a man like Ramsay... A bastard...

She cared for nothing, except for her happiness. She wanted to be selfish, in spite of how much she loved her family. “I’ll find a way back to you.” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll escape King’s Landing, I swear it.”

Ramsay’s expression darkened, his grip on her face tightening. “You’d better.” he growled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come for you. I’ll burn that wretched city to the ground if I have to.”

His words, though terrifying, were also a twisted comfort to her. She knew Ramsay meant every word — He would stop at nothing to claim what he believed was his. But as much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t ignore the fear that gripped her heart, the fear that she might not be able to return, that she might be trapped in the South forever. That she would wilt before she got the chance to liberate herself.

Ramsay pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of Meleys and Jade.” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “But don't forget who you belong to, Y/N."

Y/N nodded, her tears mingling with his breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that she would return to him, no matter the cost.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back another sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear to leave him like this, but she had no choice - She wasn't a wild wolf anymore, but a collared dog on a leash, and the handler was a slut like Myranda.

With one last glance at him, she forced herself out of his protective arms, turned around and mounted her horse, her heart heavy with sorrow. "I cannot say farewell... But I can try and say... I will see you again... Soon."

As she rode away, she heard Ramsay’s voice call out to her, filled with a desperation that shook her to her core. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Y/N didn’t look back, tears streaming down her face as she urged her horse forward, the forest closing in around her. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Ramsay, but the thought of the long, uncertain road ahead filled her with dread... And determination to break free from her shackles... A ferocious, feral instinct broke inside of her, and she was ready to transform into the she-wolf she was born to be...

The cold, dimly lit chamber of the Dreadfort, where the stone walls seem to absorb any warmth that might exist felt now even colder than before, Ramsay noted unconsciously, once he realised it had already been over a year since he hasn't seen Y/N... Since she'd been mercilessly snatched away from his grasp.

Roose Bolton sat at his desk, his expression as impassive as ever, while Ramsay stood before him; The tension between father and son was as harshly palpable as always. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches and the ever-present dampness of the castle, a stark reminder of the harshness of the North, didn't bother him anymore; A man of the North would never be bothered by such trivialities.

Fueled by a mixture of fury and frustration, Ramsay is seething inside at the thought of losing Y/N, but his father’s presence was forcing him to maintain a veneer of calm... For as long as humanly possible for him.

Ramsay paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched behind his back, his mind a storm of rage and dark thoughts - He was restless - Restless as never before, and that restlessness usually brought with it a storm of torture, hedonism and quite a lot of erratic flaying.

The room felt too small, too suffocating; His father’s cold gaze on him felt like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury, to tear the room apart, and his father with it, but he knew better. Roose Bolton did not tolerate outbursts, and Ramsay knew he had to keep his emotions in check... As long as he was a bastard, his father was still useful... Afterwards, well...

“You are going to dig a dam if you keep pacing.” Roose’s voice broke through his thoughts, a calm, controlled tone that belied the gravity of their discussion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of that Stark girl again."

Ramsay forced himself to stop pacing, turning to face his father. He knew Roose saw everything, knew everything, and any attempt to hide his feelings would be futile. Still, he had to be careful. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. “She’s in King’s Landing.” he grumbled. "For over a year."

Roose arched an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away. “And this concerns you... How, exactly?" his father's words cut as deep as the cold Valyrian steel. "Have you forgotten you place again?"

Ramsay’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No... Father." he licked his lips, looking down for a few seconds. "But she's a Stark - The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and now, Hand of the King. Marrying her - Politically, of course - Would help our House regain power and wealth again."

"MY House." his father's words felt like whips against his skin. "Not yours. You are a Snow, not a Bolton." he continued with a painfully strong word. "Yet." Roose leaned back in his chair, studying his son with those cold, calculating eyes. “You’ve grown attached to the girl, haven’t you?” he said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You don't care about politics - You only care about yourself." he scoffed, sneering at his son with disgust. "It’s only natural for a bastard to crave what he can’t have.” he continued to belittle him even more. "If you got tired of Tansy's cunt, just move to Kyra - And if even she bores you, you have Myranda. There's plenty women in here - Stop wasting time thinking of the one you can never have. You're wasting your time - And mine."

Ramsay’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He hated the way his father spoke, the way he dismissed him, the way he thought him incompetent and lesser, just because he was born out of wedlock. "She's mine. I claimed her - And I will make sure I get what I want."

Roose’s amusement faded, replaced by a steely resolve. “If you want to make her yours in more than just your mind, you’ll have to do more than just ruining the floor of my study chamber.” he said, his voice as cold as the North itself. “Listen clearly to me, Ramsay. We have a new ally - Far more powerful than the Starks.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you mean?” it was the first time he heard his father speaking about aiding someone other than the Starks - Knowing full well the Bolton army was aiding the Young Wolf win against the Lannister - And that his father, also, had to return to the battlefield soon enough.

Roose leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “The Stark boy, Robb, is a threat to the Crown. Naturally, the self-proclaimed 'King In The North' has a huge bounty on his head - And there is a way to remove him from the board, permanently.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard whispers of the plot, rumors of a grand betrayal that would see the Young Wolf brought to his knees, but hearing it from his father’s lips made it real, tangible. He had allied with the Lannisters. “The Red Wedding.” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Lord Bolton nodded, his expression unreadable. “The army is going to reach the Twins, and Lord Frey demands a groom. Alas, Robb Stark has the same dangerous sense of loyalty that his own father had - The same loyalty that got him killed." he let out a sardonic laugh. "He married the woman he slept with, out of duty - He cannot be the groom; He's sending his uncle, a lowly, incompetent Tully Fish. Of course Walder Frey would feel betrayed... And will act accordingly." his peering eyes stabbed his own, and his voice was threatening and alarming. "If you want to secure your claim to Winterfell, you must act soon. After Robb Stark dies, the next-in-line heirs are merely children of 7 and 3. The heir is clear - Your darling Y/N Stark." Roose smirked ironically, seeing his bastard's interest piqued, for once. "Everyone wants to fuck an heir in her womb, Ramsay. She is every Noble House's target." his jaw clenched in anger, in rage, in madness. "But only you must claim her maidenhood, make her your woman and have her bare your heirs. It is the only way to secure your position as the next Lord Bolton."

Ramsay’s mind raced. The idea of Robb Stark dead, of Winterfell ripe for the taking, filled him with a dark excitement. But it was Y/N’s face that haunted his thoughts, her tearful promise to return to him, to escape the South and come back to the North. The thought of losing her, of her being out of his reach, drove him to the brink of madness. Then, he remembered the tears painting her face, her distraught, her agony - How loudly she yelled that she didn't want to be a tool to create heirs? That she didn't want to give birth, because she was terrified of the pain, terrified of death, of motherhood - Of everything? And he was on the same wavelength as her - No way he wanted to be a father - Not while his mind still works properly. But Roose continued, his voice like ice, waking him up from his excruciating inner conflict. “Do something useful for once in your pathetic, miserable life and marry that Stark wench you kept sneaking out to meet for three years." he spat at his son. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Ramsay. You may be stealthy, but I know everything.”

Ramsay’s blood ran cold. His father knew—of course, he knew. Roose Bolton knew every secret, every move his son made. There was no hiding from him. But what Roose didn’t understand, what he couldn’t comprehend, was the depth of Ramsay’s obsession with Katrina. She was not just a means to an end, not just a stepping stone to power. She was his, in a way that went beyond any rational thought or ambition.

The bastard didn’t respond; He didn’t trust himself to speak. He left the chamber, his heart and mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he stepped into the cold corridors of the Dreadfort, his thoughts returned to Y/N, to her promise to return, to the way she had looked at him in the Wolfswood. He would make sure she kept that promise. She would be his, no matter the cost.

As he walked through the dimly lit halls, all the way outside of the Fort, and into the forest, his mind churned with plans and possibilities. The Red Wedding would be the first step, yes... His father's betrayal... But Y/N… She was his obsession, his desire, the one thing that mattered more than anything else. He would marry her, claim Winterfell, and make sure that she never left his side again m- All on his own accord, not the traditional way the old fucks want to force upon them. He needed her happy; He needed her to want him, to need him, to desire him the same way he wants, needs and desires her.

No one, not even his father, would stand in his way to get his little Kitten back in his arms.

Lost in his mind, the young bastard found himself by the running river - He always wanted to take Y/N here, his special spot to get away from the world. Once, she admitted to him that, although her personality is very much that of a wolf, she still find a good portion of her peace by the river-run, just like her Tully mother.

The icy wind blew through the trees along the riverbank, but Ramsay barely felt it. His dark mood had numbed him to the cold of the North. He stood by the rushing waters of the river, his fists clenched, chest heaving with barely suppressed rage.

He couldn't believe over a year had passed since his sweetling had been taken to King’s Landing, and in that time, Ramsay had fallen into a restless spiral. His hunts no longer thrilled him, and even the cruel games he played with his prisoners brought him no joy. No one could satisfy him anymore, and every woman he took to his bed only made the ache for Y/N grow worse. With an empty chuckle, he remembered the hurt in Myranda's eyes, and the protest she chirped, once he called her by Y/N's name instead of her own. Hilarious how either of them thought themselves important in his life. Dumb cunts, all of them.

He cursed under his breath, pacing along the riverbank, his thoughts tangled in frustration and agony. The image of her haunted him - Her eyes, her smile, the playful way she used to tease him. It wasn't just her beauty that lingered in his mind; it was the feeling she invoked in him. A need deeper than any he'd known before. She had marked him, claimed him, and he hated her for it, almost as much as he longed for her, needed her, just like he needed air to breathe.

His breath came in harsh gasps as he leaned against a tree, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He slammed his fist against the bark, the roughness biting into his skin, but the pain brought him no relief. His mind kept returning to her, to the day she left, to her cries, her tears, her screams, to the promise she'd made, the way she'd looked back at him with those desperate, pleading eyes, almost as if she was begging him to kidnap her and tie her up in the dungeons, away from the harsh world that would hurt her... That would take her away from him.

"Where the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the wind, as he continued punching at the tree, an unfortunate bad habit he got since childhood; Punching until his fist was a bloody mess... Punching until he didn't want to claw his own body out, as if he needed to escape this cage of flesh and sinew.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Ramsay caught movement; He tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side - Instead of danger, he saw the familiar forms of Meleys and Jade that approached him. The red wolf padded silently through the trees, her light coloured eyes gleaming with intelligence and caution, while the fox moved with graceful playfulness. Ramsay lowered his guard, watching as they approached him.

The wolf nuzzled his hand, the softness of her fur a stark contrast to his cold rage... Her red-coppery fur was as velvety soft as Y/N's hair, he remembered. His muscles relaxed, if only slightly, and he knelt down, letting his fingers run through Meleys' fur. Jade, ever loving, kept her green eyes fixed on him, before she yapped for his attention.

"You're missing her too, aren’t you?" Ramsay muttered, his voice softening for a moment. He scratched Meleys behind the ears, feeling the animal’s warmth against his skin. It was strange — He’d never cared for animals like Y/N did, but these two were different. Sure, he preferred the company of dogs over that of people, and for good reason...

When he looked Meleys in the eyes, she looked straight back at him; She climbed on his lap and gently licked at his face. He didn't stop her. He remembered those times when he'd meet Y/N, and she'd show him how she learnt to warg into Meleys, to see life through her, to control her... To live through her. He often wondered if Y/N was warged into Meleys, and she was trying to comfort him... To show him her love... To give him hope...

Jade, too, jumped on him, nudging her small wet truffle-snout against his palm, licking at his bloody wounds; Ramsay found some strange solace in their presence, though he would never admit it. Meleys and Jade missed her too — He could see it in the way they searched for her, the way they lingered near places where she used to be. They were as restless as he was, as hungry for her return.

"She promised." Ramsay whispered, more to himself than to the animals. "She swore she'd come back."

Meleys whimpered softly, nudging Ramsay's hand, as though offering comfort in her own way, then gently placed her head on his shoulder. Jade blinked up at him with her bright eyes, her tail flicking slightly. They were loyal creatures, just as Y/N had been loyal to him - That loyalty, that bond they all shared — It was the one thing he could cling to when the loneliness clawed at his insides.

"I will flay everyone who gets in her way." his hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, his jaw tightening with renewed resolve. Y/N would return to him. She had to. And when she did, he would never let her go again. Not to anyone. Not to anything. She was his, marked by him, claimed by him; He wore her mark, that haughty little kitten.

He sat there in the snow for a while longer, the quiet of the forest and the gentle presence of Meleys and Jade soothing his maddening thoughts. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ramsay allowed himself to relax just a little; Though beneath his calm exterior, the storm still brewed.

"See, Sandor?!" Y/N desperately tried to shake him into agreeing with her plan; Though her lack of strength managed to move him not even by a fraction of an inch. "You must help me! Please - You must!"

"You're just as fucked in the head as he is, little fox." the Hound barked a sarcastic laugh. "What of the little bird?"

Y/N hesitated, looking down. "She..." Y/N gulped, her voice wavering. "The Lannisters have her in their clutches. She won't listen to me... Not anymore. She's forgotten herself, who she is... Since father died." she bit her lip painfully hard. "I cannot save her anymore, Sandor; And I can save our family even less if I am trapped here, in this hell." she looked up into his eyes, strength and determination surprising even him "I trust only you with her safety. Whatever happens of that... A wolf must always return to the North. I hope, one day, you will escape also - And bring her with you to our home." she continued in a more tender home. "You will always be welcomed in the North, Sandor."

"You've lost your mind, girl. I am welcomed nowhere - Especially not given my reputation." he rolled his eyes, pushing her away from him. "Fine. I'll take care of the little song bird - But don't expect me to die for her. That damned lousy cunt who calls himself the King is unpredictable, and I am still just a dog."

"A loyal dog who's earned the trust of the Queen In The North."

The night of the wildfire siege at Blackwater Bay was a chaos of screams and roaring flames that lit the sky with an eerie green glow. The city was in disarray, and amidst the flames, the terrified Sandor Clegane dragged the two Stark sisters out of their rooms and fled the blasted Crown city for good, never to look back or miss the damned stench.

At first, they didn't know where to go, except North - Always into the North - Yet during one silent camping stop where their fear calmed down the littlest bit, they agreed on a temporary strategy - Reunite with the Young Wolf who was currently hosted at the Twins.

Unfortunately the reunion was bitter, and that night they didn't meet Robb Stark nor Catelyn Stark or Grey Wind... They met death staring right at them. Sansa fell into the Hound's arms, sobbing, wailing, almost waiting at the grotesque sight... Almost as bad as seeing her father beheaded... Y/N remained silent, her mind all but blank and filled with rage and revenge. What once was her proud brother, the beautiful Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North... Was now reduced to a headless corpse mounted on a horse... With his precious Grey Wind's head sewn on his shoulders. No doubt, their mother also met a similarly humiliating and grotesque fate.

"Y/N. I found your rat runt of a sister." Sandor spoke, out of nowhere, holding Arya by the back of her shirt as she was trying to escape his grasp and run head-first into the Bolton and Frey army to kill them all.

"Let me go! Now! I'll kill you, you stupid mutt! Y/N, tell him!" the little sister tried to struggle, but it was Sansa who slapped her face.

"Arya, can't you see?! Robb is dead! Mother is dead! If you go there, we will lose you too! Stop being a brat for once, and listen to us!" poor Sansa's heartbroken cries made even the wild little sister stare at her with wide eyes, and teared up too.

"They... They killed them... Slaughtered... Like livestock... Why..." came her little, trembling voice. "It's not fair..."

"Life ain't fair, girl." the dog grunted under his breath, taking them away from there. They suffered enough, no need to see the enemy making a mockery of their beloved family anymore.

"The North remembers... And we will have their skins..." though Arya was emboldened by that fearsome threat, Sansa shuddered a little at her cold, hars voice. It was only Sandor who noticed the malice and vendetta behind her words... And the ally hidden in the North, ready to flay anyone alive. What a deranged bastard. Gulping away her sorrow, Y/N finally found the words and strength to speak. "Let's go to aunt Lysa for now, and we'll see what we do from there."

The road to the Eyrie was filled with danger, but Sandor, Arya and Y/N knew how to fight away the assailants; They pushed forward relentlessly, despite their exhaustion and heartbreak. The girls needed a place to recover — Somewhere far from the reach of the Lannisters and the Freys. The only safe place they had left.

The eerie mountain fortress became their temporary sanctuary, though they knew they couldn't stay forever. Surprisingly even to himself, Sandor guarded over the Stark girls with the fierce loyalty of a dog - Though not for long. The girls had to divide and conquer, to make a plan and gain enough support and a proper army to regain what was lost through the Red Wedding, and the loss of Robb and Catelyn Stark.

Sansa, ever the diplomat, remained at the Eyrie to deal with aunt Lysa and young Robert; Arya had escaped into the night, ready to take on the unknown and learn how to properly fight and fend for herself, a little girl against the endless world; Y/N was going to reclaim their home and name herself the heir and Lady of Winterfell - Bran and Rickon were far too little to lead, even with the Maesters aiding them. Maester Luwin might have been as intelligent and loving as their second father, but even he couldn't rule the way a true Stark would.

Leaving Sansa in the care of Sandor, Y/N began her lonely ride northward. She hadn’t heard of what had befallen Winterfell — Only whispers of its burning and rumors of her brothers’ deaths. Her heart told her it was lies, but her mind feared the worst.

The North was desolate, colder than she remembered, and the haunting loneliness echoed in every step she took toward her home. Winterfell had once been a place of safety, but now, the foreboding silence filled her with dread.

When she finally arrived at Winterfell, the place she called home was but a shell of what it had been. The castle stood lonely and bleak, with the Greyjoy banner flapping mockingly above the walls. Panic surged through her veins as she noticed two small bodies, covered in tar, burnt and hanged above the gate as display for all to see. They couldn't be... No way those were Bran and Rickon... Theon Greyjoy would never...

She stormed inside, desperately searching for answers, only to be greeted by the sight of Theon, standing in her father’s hall, playing at being Lord of Winterfell.

Fury like she had never known surged through her - Theon had betrayed them, his only family that accepted him after is own father renounced him in favour of his sister, Asha, who was a far better leader than he would ever be.

Her anger overwhelmed her to the point of irrationality; The words were ripping from her throat with all the venom she could muster. Theon was no longer the boy she once knew. He was brittle, broken, and deluded with false power. The arrogant power-trip that the weak get once given the chance to hold a fickle grain of power.

"You... You pathetic, loathsome, disgusting, arrogant little cockroach!" the voice of a Stark roared loudly through the castle walls, calling forth all of its original inhabitants - They all marveled in joy and horror at seeing Lady Stark return home. "Theon Greyjoy, who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?!" she lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground in his state of confusion and panic.

"You—!" her voice was a guttural snarl, thick with disbelief and outrage. "You traitorous bastard!" she screamed as her fists slammed into him, each strike landing with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. The hall fell into shocked silence, with the few guards present too stunned to react immediately - Though none of them had any respect for the poor excuse of a Kraken playing the leader role. "How dare you sit there! That seat belongs to my father! My family! You are nothing!"

Theon, momentarily caught off guard, could only try to shield himself from the onslaught; Y/N’s blows came hard and fast, her nails scratching at his face and her fists thudding against his chest. For a brief moment, she was relentless, every ounce of betrayal and rage from months of being away from her home, from seeing her family butchered, pouring out of her.

Theon groaned in pain and surprise as she clawed at him, her anger consuming every fiber of her being. “Stop—!” he tried to shout over her furious attacks, but his voice was drowned out by her curses - Just like his useless God.

"How could you?!" she cried, voice cracking with the raw emotion of betrayal. "After everything we've done for you! After we treated you like one of us! You were my brother, Theon! And now this?! You betray your best friend who trusted you above all else, take over my home, declare yourself the Lord and even kill my brothers!" her fists slammed into him again, the intensity of her emotions seeping into every word. "You disgust me! You, vile, evil, pathetic worm!"

The old citizens of Winterfell, those who had remained loyal to the Starks, rushed forward in an attempt to hold her back. A few guards hesitated at first, unsure whether or not to protect Theon from the girl’s wrath or to stand aside. One of the older men, who had known Y/N since she was a child, wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently restraining her despite her thrashing.

"Lady Y/N, please!" the man pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow. "You'll only get yourself hurt - Your precious hands should not be damaged against a lowly peasant such as him." truly, no one feared him, nor respected him. He was a wretch everywhere he went. Even his own family was praying for him never to return.

Y/N was panting, her wild eyes still fixed on Theon, who now stood from the ground, wiping at his bleeding face, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and growing rage. Her chest heaved as she struggled against the arms holding her back, her voice hoarse with the weight of everything she had bottled up for too long, a dark, malicious murder intent growing ever stronger.

"You don't belong here!" she spat, trying to wrench herself free. "This is my home!"

Theon’s pride, wounded by both her words and her successful attack, twisted his expression into something unknown. His initial shock and shame from being attacked by a woman was quickly replaced by a cruel sneer, the only way he knew to hide the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides.

“Shut up, you worthless mewling quim!” he snapped, straightening himself and brushing off his tunic as though her blows were nothing but an inconvenience. “The past doesn't matter. Winterfell is mine - The House of Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Warden in the North." unexpectedly, Y/N managed to land another harsh slap against his gaunt face, then spat him in the eyes.

"You may call yourself whatever you wish, but you will never earn the respect or aid of anyone! You’re nothing but a coward playing at being king in a castle that’s not yours! Do you really think this charade will last? You think you can be anything more than the Greyjoy runt, pathetic and spineless?!” she screeched at him even as he dug his hand into her hair and tugged harshly at it. "You don't know what happens to traitors, do you, Theon? Everyone hates a traitor."

Theon’s face flushed red as Y/N's words pierced through the thin veil of arrogance he had built around himself. For a moment, he wavered, the reality of the situation crashing into him - But his desperation to hold on to his fleeting power won out, and he grabbed her from the man's arms, slapping her face hard with his gloved hand; She simply grinned with defiance - No once could hit harder than Meryn Trant and his metal gauntlet. "You even hit like a cunt, Theon. You could never best me at anything."

Theon looked around at the gathered faces—faces of the people he had known for years, people who had served the Starks faithfully. They were not looking at him with fear or respect, but with contempt and disgust. His eyes flickered back to Y/N, who was still breathing heavily, her eyes filled with loathing and burning rage. Something shifted in him. For a moment, guilt seemed to seep into his features, but he masked it quickly with a cold glare.

“Lock her in her room.” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice trembling slightly. “I will teach some proper discipline into her later - And you will learn to scream my name from the top of your lungs - Lord Theon Greyjoy."

The old man holding Katrina hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to her and his fear of what Theon might do if defied. Y/N, however, stopped struggling, her fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "You don't have a big enough cock to fuck me, nor the balls to dare even approach me. That's why you could only get women through coin - You are everyone's laughing-stock, and that's what you will remain forever." she said, her voice low but venomous. “And mark my words — You will regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”

Theon flinched slightly at the threat, but he quickly turned away, trying to maintain an air of control as Y/N was swiftly led away by the remaining Stark loyalists who were afraid to see their Lady get in even more trouble. His grip on power was tenuous at best, and deep down, he knew it. Anarchy was approaching.

Y/N’s parting words echoed in his mind, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He had lost his only true family in the Starks, and now even Y/N, the girl who had treated him like a brother for years, despised him, and rightfully so. Despite his stolen throne, Theon felt more alone than ever before.

She was supposed to become a prisoner in her own bedroom chambers, but Y/N Stark was no prisoner — At least, not for long. That night, before Theon could instill his faux sense of discipline and power on her, she escaped through the old tunnels she had explored as a child, her heart set on freedom and revenge. She fled back into the Wolfswood, where the wolves of her ancestors watched over her and awaited the Stark she-wolf to reclaim her home. Yes, the initial plan failed, but there was one last thing she could do -

Return to Ramsay Snow and get the Bolton army on her side.

Once she reached the forest edge close to the Dreadfort, Y/N dismounted and stumbled through the underbrush of the Wolfswood, her clothes torn and her face streaked with tears and dirt. Once she saw the fort in her sight, she took a deep breath and let out a long, haunting howl, the sound echoing through the trees like a wolf’s cry — A cry of both pain and a call for her true brethren to reunite as one once more.

She felt her voice tearing at her throat as she called out into the cold, sharp air. Her fury was boundless. It was the Boltons who had betrayed her family's trust, Roose Bolton who teamed up with Tywin Lannister and orchestrated the Red Wedding, the massacre that took her mother and her brother from her. He was going to pay for betraying her trust. They all will. She will have their skins.

Before long, the silence of the woods was broken. Meleys, her loyal Red Queen, sprinted through the undergrowth, her frozen eyes gleaming in the low light. Behind her, padding quietly, came Jade, her beloved fokin - But it was not just her darling animal-sisters who emerged from the darkness.

As she expected, Ramsay followed shortly after, his black hair wild and messy, his expression one of uncharacteristic joy at the sight of her. For a moment, a flicker of something softer passed through his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of hope. She had come back to him, the only living being he had ever truly wanted - She returned to him, just as she promised.

Y/N’s greeting was, however, far from warm and heartfelt; She snarled at him, her hand instinctively going for her bow. In one swift motion, she nocked an arrow and aimed it at his chest. “Y/N…” Ramsay began, his voice low, almost tender. "You've come back to—"

"Stop right there, you traitorous bastard!" she growled, her voice dripping with venom. She didn't care about the small smile that briefly flashed on his face, or the way his hands slowly rose as if in surrender. She loosed a warning arrow, purposefully missing him by inches, letting it thud dangerously into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Don’t you dare say my name!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Another arrow flew, this one even closer to him, landing in the snow at his feet. “You... you monster! How could you let this happen? How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”

Ramsay's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then anger. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step forward. Not yet. How dare she accuse him?! And of what, he didn't even know - How dare she?! How DARE she?!

"Betray you?" Ramsay's voice was bubbling and sneering but laced with an undercurrent of fury. He finally realised - It was all about his father's betrayal of the Stark family. Of course. Of - fucking - course. He knew his father was going to ruin everything he ever did in his life - That blasted worm... "You think I had something to do with that?!”

"You’re a Bolton!" Katrina shouted, another arrow notched and ready. “Your father slaughtered my family! My mother, my brother! They were all butchered! Tortured! And for what? For Theon fucking Greyjoy to burn my little brothers alive and take Winterfell for himself?” her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You knew! You had to have known!"

“I didn’t!” Ramsay spat, his voice growing desperate as her accusations cut into him. “I had nothing to do with it!” his tone was raising with every bit of defense he had to shout to be heard.

"LIAR!" Y/N screamed, and her voice broke as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “You’re no different than him! You’re just like your father, Ramsay! You’re—”

In that moment, Ramsay snapped, something inside him, probably his sanity, shattered. The frustration, the rage, the desperation to make her understand, to stop her from hating him - They all boiled over. With a savage growl, he moved faster than she could react, lunging forward and knocking the bow from her hands.

He slammed her back against a nearby tree, his hands gripping her shoulders with a bruising force; She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she stared up at him, wide-eyed like a fawn and trembling, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

“Shut up!” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to blame me for what he did!” he snarled at her like a rabid beast.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she was silenced — Bot by fear, but by the intensity of Ramsay’s gaze on her. It burned into her, wild, petrifying and unhinged, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite decipher. Her tears streamed down her face in endless waterfalls, and she tried to shove him away, but he only pressed her harder against the tree, their bodies closer than ever before.

“I have nothing to do with that.” Ramsay snarled, his breath hot against her face. “Nothing - Yet you… You came back, just to accuse me like this?”

She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but before she could speak, Ramsay’s lips crashed against hers in a violent, desperate kiss. Her entire body tensed, shocked by the suddenness of it, by the raw hunger in the way his mouth moved against hers. She tried pushing against him, her mind going crazy, but Ramsay was relentless, strong, and his hands were gripping her tighter as if he was trying to claim her once again, to force her back into submission.

For a moment, her mind blanked, overwhelmed by the intensity of the kiss, her very first kiss; The way his lips devoured hers with a desperation she had never seen in him before. When she finally managed to shove him off, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“What…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you—”

Ramsay’s eyes softened for just a moment. “I didn't betray you.” he said, his voice quieter now, like a threatening low whisper. “Don't ever do that to me ever again. Not even the Old Gods could stop me from tearing you apart if you accuse me of such horse shite ever again. You hear me?!"

She glared at him through her tears, still uncertain, still struggling with the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Ramsay wasn’t involved in the betrayal of her family, but the bitterness of grief and the sting of betrayal ran deep.

“I will kill him.” Ramsay promised, his voice turning dark again as he took a step closer, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “Once he legitimises me, I will kill him. He deserves it for everything he did to me - To us." he hissed softly, his lips almost touching her again. "I will flay him alive for you."

Y/N looked up at him, her expression torn. She was still angry, still grieving, but the conviction in his voice made her pause; She believed him. “I heard what that worthless cockroach did to your home.” Ramsay continued, his voice dripping with venom. “I will gift you Winterfell back, and Theon Greyjoy's skin made into a flag."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her heart torn between hatred and hope. She stared up at Ramsay, her thoughts swirling. She had seen so much darkness, so much death - And yet, through all the horrors of the world, Ramsay Snow remained the only person she fully trusted... The one person who might be twisted and screwed in the head enough to give her the vengeance she craved.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, she nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “Bring me Winterfell… And bring me Theon Greyjoy. Alive, but not for long.”

Ramsay’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down, his forehead brushing against hers. “It’s yours.” he whispered. “All of it.” his lips trailed down to her ear, whispering sultry. "All of me."

For the first time in a long time in may painful years, Y/N felt a gleaming of something resembling hope — Dark, twisted, insane hope, but hope nonetheless. They would take Winterfell back, and they would make sure that every betrayal was paid for in blood - That's what he promised her; She kept her promise to him, and it was time for him to reciprocate.

Winterfell will be reclaimed by the shocking wit of the bastard of the Dreadfort - Truly, not only did Y/N never imagine he would be so witty, but also such a fantastic actor; He would play the role of a half-wit peasant called Reek, bring her to Theon as a prize, and gain his trust - Trust which will be oh-so-satisfyingly shattered once Reek betrays him and becomes Ramsay once more... And he will learn his place, that pesky little filth.

The frigid winds howled through the corridors of Winterfell, but within the walls, tension simmered hotter than any hearth. The once-proud castle of Winterfell was shadowed by the Kraken banners of House Greyjoy, their sigil hanging where the direwolf of Stark once stood tall and proud for generations.

Ramsay had donned the rags of a peasant, dirtying himself with soot and mud until he was nothing more than a shadow of the handsome yet brutal man he truly was.

He became "Reek", it rhymes with "Meek", it rhymes with "Leek", it rhymes with "Weak" - a pathetic and broken figure, eager to please and loyal only to Lord Theon Greyjoy. Y/N, playing along, allowed herself to be dragged in as his prisoner, bound and silent, though her eyes burned with cold fury and thirst for a torturous revenge.

Theon, still drunk on his fleeting power-trip, was easily fooled by their flawless charade; He sneered at Y/N, mocked her, and paraded her around like a trophy in front of her people. "Lookie here, Lady Stark came back home!" he struck her face so hard she fell to the ground. Each word, each cruel jest, was like a knife twisted in Y/N’s heart repeatedly, and added salt and cyanide - But she held herself together, knowing that it was only temporary.

She could feel the storming wrath in Ramsay's eyes - The humiliation won't last long, before he snaps and goes berserk. Theon had fallen too far to see the trap being laid for him. Even as he and "Reek" bonded over Y/N’s torment, the bastard’s true self remained hidden, seething beneath the surface, watching and waiting impatiently to destroy this worthless cunt who thinks himself a King.

One of Greyjoy's favourite ways of tormenting the she-wolf was to degrade her in front of his Ironborn; He'd force her to kneel before him, his foot on her shoulder, and would belittle her. "You like kneeling for men, don't you, Y/N? Is that what you did in King's Landing? Whore yourself for any man who gave you attention?" he laughed mockingly at her, looking at Reek for validation, to see if his joke was funny. "The proud Lady Stark, sucking cock like a greedy slut!" he wanted to go further, to take out his dick and dangle it in her face - But something in him couldn't go that far; Was it their previous sibling bond, or the fact that he practically froze under the harsh blizzard-like glare of her eyes - He kicked her to the ground, having his people drag her back to her room, before he took Reek away from there.

Reek kept his eyes downcast and his hands clenched into fists whenever Theon mistreated his sweet little thorny rose. He would swallow down his rage, pretending to be the loyal, cowardly "Reek" who would never dare to defy his master. His nails would dig into his palms until they drew blood, the pain a reminder to keep his cover intact, no matter how badly he wanted to rip Theon apart with his bare hands. He will pay with his skin, and not only. The more he saw Theon mistreating his darling, the more he wanted to make him feel eternal pain. He will lose his cock, his finger nails, toe nails, and more...

He would shove her around, slap her, hit her, insult her and more; So many threats of him fucking a bastard into her womb, and that he will beat her pregnant belly until she loses the babe; Each word he addressed her way became a new way of Ramsay to torture him.

But one night he went to far... Too far, even for Ramsay to accept. Theon had dragged him into Lady Stark's chambers; He buried his hand into her hair, throwing her onto the bed, his hands gripping at her slender body. "Don't you fucking dare..." came a low, guttural rumble, a threat, a warning... But the Kraken was deaf and blind; He ripped the bodice of her dress and with a weirdly strong grip, he tried to spread her legs apart for him to get to her honeyed core. "I will tear you apart, Theon Greyjoy."

"Shut up, you greedy little whore, I know you're desperate for me... You've always looked at me, since we were little..." with a strike to her face, he slumped over her body, rendering her unable to struggle away. "Don't play coy with me - I know you're not pure anymore - You cannot be."

"Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy - I am not yours to claim." she smirked with wicked defiance; She knew her wait was over, and she could rise up and riot. "The only man allowed to claim me is Ramsay Bolton."

"Then I'll make sure to tell him how tight your cunt is." his hand was fumbling with his breeches, ready to take his cock out and fulfill his promise, until...

"I'd like to see you try." Theon was fell limp over Y/N's body, knocked unconscious by an iron poker struck onto his head. "You don't get to touch her - Filth." THE Theon Greyjoy crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his body lifeless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, as Ramsay had to restrain himself to jump on him and punch him to death - He deserved far, far worse for even daring to touch his precious Kitten's skin... Let alone think he can CLAIM her.

"Took you long enough." Y/N found herself panting for air, regaining her senses.

"Be glad I'm not claiming you right now." he was trembling with anger as he hissed under his breath.

"You can claim me in front of him." her bold, teasing voice made him snap at her, his eyes wide, tormented. "Down in the dungeons, when you've had your way torturing him... After you cut that useless prick off... Tormented him..."

"Shut up." he growled at her. "Get your people back, raise your flag - Just get away from me." his warning made a shiver go down her spine, and she scurried away from her chambers. She'd never seen Ramsay so pissed that he couldn't control himself even around her. She will let him have his fun for a while, let him cool down on his own, before she returns to check on him.

She moved to the court where the few remaining people of Winterfell— Those who had not yet been driven away or killed — Waited in tense silence. They had seen the Starks fall, seen the banners torn down and replaced with the Kraken of the Ironborn. But now, standing before them, was their last glimmer of hope — The rightful heir to Winterfell. The Queen in the North.

Y/N looked out at the faces of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong, despite the bruise forming on her cheek. “Theon Greyjoy is no more. Winterfell is our home once more!" there was no mistaking the fierce determination that burned within her - The Scarlet She-Wolf of the Stark House. Once she cupped her hands to her mouth, she let out a loud howl, haunting, booming, alert; Meleys joined in, and from the forest, many more were heard.

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

After the bastard finished tying up the naked, unconscious Theon Greyjoy on a wooden X-cross in the dungeons, he went out, watching his Kitten's loud meowing from the shadows, and he held a satisfied smirk on his face. That was his girl, he thought to herself, feeling power brewing in his chest as the people cheered loudly on her - Queen in the North, Lady Y/N Stark - With all the strength and fury of the North.

He slipped away, heading toward the gates where his own forces waited in the cover of night. He signaled them, and like a tidal wave, the Bastard's Boys stormed the premises, decimating any Ironborn still alive. Of course, Y/N wasn't happy to see foreign armies in her home - Alas, she had to accept it for a while.

Back in the dungeons, Theon awoke to the cold, damp darkness, his head throbbing and his wrists bound tightly with burning ropes. He could hear the distant sounds of battle above, the faint screams of his men as they were cut down one by one. Panic surged through him, but before he could cry out, the door to his cell creaked open, and Ramsay stepped inside, carrying the Greyjoy flag in his hands.

With a cruel grin, Ramsay unfolded the Kraken banner before Theon’s wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve made quite a mess of this place, haven’t you, Theon?” Ramsay drawled, his voice mocking. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to clean it up.”

With a twisted grin, Ramsay unceremoniously pissed on the Greyjoy flag, defiling it just as Theon had defiled Winterfell. The stench filled the air, and Theon recoiled in horror, but Ramsay only laughed — A dark, mirthless sound that echoed through the dungeon like a death knell.

Ramsay approached him slowly, his leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his pale blue eyes told a different story. He was eager, too eager to start, but he reined himself in, savoring the anticipation. He wanted to make Theon fully aware of what was coming before he even laid a hand on him.

"Reek?! What - How did I get here?! Go on, get me out of here! What are you waiting for?!" but Theon was horrified to see the empty grin of Reek growing ever wider... Twisted, cruel, malicious. "Reek...?! I order you, as Lord Theon Greyjoy, to get me the hell out of here!"

"Y/N was right, you are as stupid as it gets." the bastard scoffed. "I am not 'Reek' - You are! You are Reek." he got close to his face. "And I - I am Ramsay Bolton." Theon's eyes widened with shock and horror, realising he tried to rape this psychopath's woman in front of him; He threatened and tormented her - In front of him.

“You thought you could have her...” Ramsay said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he circled Theon like a wolf preparing to strike. “Y/N - MY Y/N." he hummed softly. "The Red She-Wolf Queen in the North, Y/N Stark, The Lady of Winterfell... Otherwise known as my precious little Kitten.” He smiled darkly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Theon's ear. “You thought you could take what’s mine?”

Theon’s eyes widened with terror, but he couldn’t respond with words that weren't protests or pleas. in his mouth. “Please… Ramsay…” Theon stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh…” Ramsay placed a gloved finger to Theon’s lips, cutting him off. “I’m not interested in your excuses, Greyjoy. I’m interested in watching you suffer.”

Without another word, Ramsay picked up a small, sharp blade from his table of tools. He held it up for Theon to see, letting the dim light from the torches glint off the steel. He then moved toward Theon's hand, grabbing it roughly. Ramsay pressed the blade to Theon's fingers, drawing shallow cuts along the tips—just enough to sting, just enough to let Theon feel the sharpness of the pain before the real suffering began.

He gasped and grunted, squirming, trying to pull his hand away, but Ramsay held him firm, his grip painful and firm. “This is only the foreplay.” Ramsay whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll feel every inch of what I’m about to do to you - And I’ll enjoy every second.”

The bastard had chosen a small patch of skin on Theon's chest located where he knew the pain would radiate and linger. He peeled back the flesh slowly, deliberately, relishing in the sight of Theon's blood as it oozed from the wound, along with his screams; His body was convulsing with excruciating agony, but Ramsay remained unfazed - In fact, his nether regions grow hot with desire and lust; He always got aroused when torturing people. His hands worked expertly, and every cry from Theon only seemed to spur him on.

“You should have known better - You have only yourself to blame, Reek.” Ramsay said with an almost casual tone as he continued his work. “You think you’re a lord, you think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were. Y/N could never belong to a filthy wretch like you. You’re nothing. Nothing but an urchin pretending to be a lord.”

As Theon’s screams grew louder, Ramsay only leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “This is what happens when you try to steal what belongs to me.”

Once Ramsay was satisfied with the patch of flayed skin, he moved on to Theon’s fingers again, this time bending them back slowly until he heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Theon’s howls echoed through the dungeon - Utterly powerless, utterly broken.

“What’s wrong, Reek?” Ramsay mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. “These fingers tried to touch my woman. I either remove them, or kill you, you see? You have to get purified if you want to remain alive."

Theon, shaking from both pain and terror, could only whimper in response - He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to continue living or not, the pain was unbearable. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps, and Ramsay wasn’t done. He wanted more. He needed to hear Theon beg, to hear him plead for the mercy that would never come.

Ramsay brought out a thin iron rod, heated in the fire until it glowed red-hot. He held it up, letting Theon see it, letting him anticipate the pain to come. “It's getting rather cold in here, don't you think? And you're all naked... Let me heat you up a little!” Ramsay exclaimed with a wicked grin.

“Please… Please, no more!” Theon sobbed, his voice barely audible through the tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Ramsay’s grin only widened as he pressed the hot iron against Theon’s thigh. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as Theon screamed louder than ever, his entire body shaking with agony. Ramsay watched with dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight as Theon writhed in pain beneath him.

But then... The bastard went on to remove that worthless little prick of his... And Theon Greyjoy lost consciousness from the agony.

With Winterfell reclaimed once more, Roose Bolton had reason to celebrate, and so did the Crown, who not only appointed him Warden of the North; but offered his bastard son the legitimisation every bastard dreamt of; Ramsay Snow was no more - Ramsay Bolton finally took over - And Roose was going to make a special trip to tell him just that.

The grand hall of Winterfell had been transformed for the feast. Lord Bolton, as imposing as ever, entered, met with a display of power and wealth. Y/N had spared no expense in preparing a lavish meal - His last meal. The long table was covered with roasted meats, warm bread, and jugs of dark wine. The hall glowed with the light of torches and hearths, and a low hum of music filled the air.

Ramsay stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of restraint, as his father entered. Katrina was seated beside him, regal and defiant, her eyes never leaving Roose's cold figure.

Roose barely acknowledged her at first, his eyes fixed on Ramsay. "You've done well, Ramsay." Roose remarked, his tone devoid of warmth as he took his seat. "Winterfell is yours. You’ve managed not to disgrace the name I gave you, for once." as harsh as ever. "Now, you are truly Ramsay Bolton." with that, he threw the letter at his son.

That letter had arrived from King's Landing just that day - Ramsay Snow truly was no more. He had been legitimized by the King's royal decree. He was now Ramsay Bolton, the only living true son of Lord Bolton, no longer the Bastard of Bolton. This was everything Ramsay had ever desired — Power, status, and legitimacy.

This was it - He had the Dreadfort, he had the Bolton name, and he had Y/N. He had everything he ever wanted in his grasp.

It was time to take one step further; He will be the son of Lord Bolton no more - He will be Lord Bolton.

Ramsay smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, father.”

But as the feast began, Roose turned his attention to Katrina, eyeing her in a manner that made Ramsay’s blood boil. The cold Lord of the Dreadfort spoke of her as though she were little more than a breeding sow, not even present in the room.

“She’s a Stark.” Roose said dismissively between bites of food. “Strong bloodline - But don’t let her think she has power of Winterfell, Ramsay - She’s just a woman after all. Her worth is in her womb, in the heirs she can give you. Many heirs... Strong boys to continue our line.”

Y/N’s face twisted with fury at the crude comment, and Ramsay’s fist clenched beneath the table. He had never been a man to hide his anger well, but for a moment, he restrained himself. His eyes flickered toward his sweetling, and he could see her seething. Roose's words had wounded her pride, and that was something Ramsay would never allow. He spoke ill of her far too many times - But he will speak no more.

After a few more tense exchanges that he hadn't even heard, Ramsay stood and moved toward his father, his expression darkening. “You’ve always been so wise, father.” Ramsay said in a soft voice, though the undercurrent of malice was undeniable. “And I have always sought your approval.”

Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the sudden shift in his son's demeanor, but before he could react, Ramsay pulled him into an embrace, feigning affection. "But I’m afraid it’s time for you to step aside." Ramsay whispered into his father's ear. "I am Lord Bolton now."

In one swift motion, Ramsay plunged a dagger deep into Roose’s gut. The older man gasped in shock and the sharp pain of the twist, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him close, continuing to twist the blade cruelly, to make him feel the same pain he always did. The hall fell into stunned silence as the Lord of the Dreadfort staggered backward, blood pouring from the wound.

“Goodbye, father.” Ramsay sneered as Roose collapsed to the ground, his hands desperately clutching at the bleeding wound. Ramsay’s eyes shifted to Meleys, the red wolf that had been protectively waiting at Y/N’s side. “Meleys.” he called, his voice cold as winter’s night. The wolf moved with deadly grace, approaching Roose with glowing, hungry eyes. With one swift leap, Meleys tore into Roose's already weakened form, ripping flesh from bone as blood pooled on the stone floor, her red fur mingling with his red blood.

Y/N watched the scene unfold with a dark satisfaction in her eyes, not even realising she was grinning. There was no remorse, no sorrow— Only cold justice and triumph. She had grown ruthless, just as life had molded her to be. And now, her tormentor was dead. She felt no pity for Roose Bolton. He had betrayed her family, destroyed everything she once held dear. His death was a small payment for the suffering he had caused.

As the last breath escaped Roose’s lips, Y/N turned to Ramsay. “He deserved worse.” she said softly.

Ramsay smiled. “I thought so too, but I wanted to give you a special gift."

Katrina’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “Truth is - While I was in King’s Landing, I took a potion - Something to ensure I would never bear children. I almost died, and the pain was excruciating, but it paid off. As a prisoner, I couldn’t allow anyone to use me for my bloodline - As their political pawn and breeding-stock." she let out an empty chuckle. "I never wanted heirs anyway - And neither did you."

Ramsay stared at her for a moment, processing the words. Slowly, his smile returned, but this time it was something different — Almost relieved. “You clever, clever kitten.” he murmured, stroking her cheek, painting her skin with the blood of his father. “No babes, no risk of you dying in childbirth, no squalling brats to annoy me. You’ve just made everything so much easier for the both of us.” he grinned all sultry and enticing. "I never could resist you."

Katrina chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. “I am yours, Ramsay. Yours and yours alone. No one will ever take that from you.”

Ramsay’s hand trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Good.” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Because I’ve never wanted to share you with anyone.”

Katrina looked into his eyes, seeing the madness, the obsession, but also the devotion that lurked beneath. She knew she had tamed the beast within him, at least enough to keep him by her side. Ramsay had given her everything — Her home, her revenge, and even himself — And in return, she had given him herself, Always and Forever.

"I've got something to show you." the man dragged her back into her chamber, and showed her the beautiful Stark flag gently swaying with the wind. "Perfect view." he stood behind her, his arms around her waist holding her in a tight embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel being back home, Lady Stark?" the closeness was intoxicating him, suffocating him - And he was craving more.

"Perfect, now that you're here with me." her innocently genuine comment made the man instinctively tighten his grip on her; He wanted desperately to get lost in her heat.

She could feel his heat against her back, the possessiveness in the way his hands lingered at her hips. There was a tension in his touch, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. But she wasn’t afraid - She never was afraid of him. Instead, there was something else building inside her, something that had been growing for some time now. She was craving his touch more than she needed air to breathe.

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was a storm in those gorgeous icy blue eyes of his, one that both excited and thrilled her. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

"Ramsay." she spoke in a tender whisper, filled with curiosity and desire. "What do boys and girls do together when they grow up?"

His breath hitched as he remembered the many times he had teased her about that when they were younger; He loved toying with her innocence. The way Ramsay looked at her, the way his fingers brushed along her waist, set her heart racing in a way she didn’t fully understand.

"Show me." she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and need.

Ramsay’s smirk widened, and without warning, he pushed her back against the bed, his hands gripping her waist firmly. His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. His lips hovered inches from hers, teasing, taunting, as he held her there, trapped between him and the comfortable bed underneath her.

"You want it, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My sweet, greedy kitten… You’ve wanted this all along... You've been craving my touch for so long..."

Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as his words sent a flush of heat and arousal through her body. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but she wanted this... The way his mere words stirred her insides... She was nervous and excited to see what else she could feel... With his breath warm against her lips, and his body pressed against hers.

"Yes." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her pride crumbling beneath the weight of her desire for him

"Have you been touching yourself, thinking of me, sweetling?" Ramsay’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again, teasing her mercilessly. "So greedy." he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, watching that precious blush of hers. "I’ve barely touched you, and already you’re begging for more."

She let out a soft whimper of frustration, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, but he held her firmly in place, refusing to give in just yet. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she could feel the heat pooling in her belly, the need for him growing stronger with every passing second. "Ramsay..." she whined out his name, her voice thick with need. "Stop teasing me... You're so cruel..."

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "But where’s the fun in that, my little naughty kitty-cat?" his hands slid lower, teasing her waist, his touch light and maddeningly slow. She could feel her pulse quickening, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the anticipation built to an unbearable crescendo. He knew exactly what he was doing to her — Knew how much she wanted him, how much she needed him — And he reveled in it and the power he held over her.

"You’re mine, Y/N. Forever and Always." Ramsay growled softly, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He finally gave in to her silent pleas, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce, demanding intensity. Y/N moaned sweetly into the kiss, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled him closer, desperate for more. The scorching heat between them was electric, a wildfire that had been building for far too long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no stopping it.

Ramsay’s hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, his touch rough and insistent, but she didn’t care — She wanted this, needed this. She had been denying herself for too long, and now, in the darkness of her home, with the snow falling outside and the fire crackling behind them, she finally let go and embraced his hedonism.

When he pulled back, his breath heavy, Ramsay smirked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She looked so kissable, so needy, so innocent and in need of corruption.

"Such a greedy little kitten... All for me..." he teased, his voice low and full of dark amusement. "Just as I always knew you would be." his whisper was husky and sultry. "Insatiable, greedy, needy... Only for me."

Y/N glared weakly at him, blushing through the timidness of a demure maiden in all her glory, purer than the Maiden, and far more beautiful than the Moon herself - And she was burning with desire that was not even close to being satisfied. "And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice breathless.

Ramsay chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at her lower lip, sending another shiver down her spine. "Mine, of course. I love spoiling my haughty little sweetling." he admitted, his voice full of dark pride and impure thought. "The night is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you..."

In the aftermath of countless betrayals and bloodshed, the North was finally restored to its rightful rulers - House Stark. Y/N Stark, with the aid of her Lord Husband, Ramsay Bolton, had reclaimed Winterfell - She united the world once more with a claim as strong as that of the previous King in the North, her dear brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark; She became Queen in the North, ruling with a wisdom and wit, aided by the ruthless strategies of her beloved Ramsay - And even more surprisingly, the aid of her little brothers, who had survived Theon's siege - They were brought back by Meera and Jojen Reed.

Theon Greyjoy, now a broken man, lived as "Reek" — A forever shattered reflection of the once-proud yet pathetic Ironborn prince. He became Ramsay's pitiful plaything, his mind too far gone to remember even his own true name.

Far away in the Eyrie, Sansa Stark took over the Vale after Sandor had to throw her Lady aunt, Lysa Arryn, through the Moon Door after she dared attack his beloved songbird out of sheer jealousy - Sansa was far more beautiful than Lysa ever was. The she-wolf willingly married Sandor Clegane out of love, feeling safe and sound in his strong, protective embrace for the first time since she left home. Sansa became Warden in the East, and Y/N's eternal ally, just as their Catelyn and Lysa used to be... As Ned and Jon used to be...

The direwolves returned to the North as well, filling the halls of Winterfell with the howl of 'home' once more. Though Grey Wind was dead, and Ghost was loyally protective Jon at Castle Black, everyone else replaced the Stark siblings for Y/N, whenever she missed her sweet brothers and sisters a little too much. The family was sort-of reunited... The pack survived... But at what cost?

Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen, the true Heir to the Crown, laid her claim over King's Landing, with the aid of her dragons and Tyrion Lannister as her Hand; Cersei Lannister and her devil-spawn child were no more; Myrcella had married the Prince of Dorne and happily remained there, whilst Tommen was more than willing to go to his bride, Margaery Tyrell, and live in the peace and prosperity of Highgarden. No doubt, the happiest was Jaime Lannister, who happily married Brienne of Tarth and returned to Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West, enjoying, for once, a normal life, away from the drama of the Crown, and all that his father and sister brought along.

With peace finally settling over Westeros, Daenerys married Jon - Who found out was actually Aegon Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell;

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

And what became of the little rat of Winterfell? Arya hadn't stepped in Westeros of ages - She was living her best life, traveling West of Westeros, discovering what was never discovered, venturing into the unknown, and exploring to her heart's content. She was the happiest she could ever be. Perhaps, some day, she would return, homesick - Until then, she will become Nymeria of the Rhoynar and sail into the vast horizon.

The terrible Winds of Winter had dissipated, and the Dream of Spring nurtured blooming hope and joy into the people of Westeros once more.

#got #got x reader #got imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #ramsay snow #ramsay snow x reader #ramsay snow imagine #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay bolton imagine #ramsay bolton

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

Choke On The Sun

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd known John ever since the Academy, and even after losing touch, the love you had for one another was never gone. Like a snake, it had stayed hidden in unseen places. But it was always there.

WORDCOUNT: 13.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, torture, detailed descriptions of torture i.e. electrocution, loss of a finger, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, discussion of torture, canon-typical violence, death, near-death experiences, guns, weapons, abductions, betrayals, intended for mature audiences, happy ending, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember a story you’d been told when you were a rookie—fresh off the cut and eager-eyed with far fewer scars. A more of a glass-half-full type of outlook on life, unknowing of what you’d experience during your years with the SAS: what choices you would have to make.

It went something like this.

There was a herd of deer that had jumped over the side of a bridge. On either end of that bridge, there were two trucks with their high beams on—not moving but sitting there; the deer got pressured. Spooked. One by one they just…hopped over and died on the rocks below—no noise above the breaking of bone and the clatter of antlers shattering to pieces.

You have to wonder if it was the fault of the first one who had jumped over for leading the rest to a quick end, or the drivers of the cars just trying to get where they needed to go; ignorant of the way they’d been ogling to see the panic in wide, black eyes. Either way, a whole herd of ten met their fate and left their bodies to feed the larvae and the birds.

The story had been told over drinks at a pub, at the time you’d taken an interest in it with no more than a slow comment of ‘poor things’ before you’d brought your glass to your lips. You don't know why you’re thinking about it now.

The timing could have been more opportune.

You send a bullet into the man’s kneecap, hearing the bone disintegrate and the flesh open like a flower. His scream follows, loud and hoarse—sobbing trapped behind a bitten tongue that drips blood down his chin.

Hand snapping up, you grasp the lower half of his face with a grunt, head shoving itself forward until you lock onto fluttering eyes and get consumed by a whining sob.

“I asked you a question,” you lick your lips, tasting sweat as it slithers down your skin. Your voice is slow and even, grip tight. With a shove, you push back the man’s face, wrist limp with the Basilisk as you wipe at your nose with it, unblinking, when you get to your full height.

The room wasn’t anything different from a million other black sites you’d been to. A single chair where your mark sits tied up, a desk that had been pushed to the wall, and a single door placed into the cracking foundations of a concrete wall. No windows. No vents.

Hotter than hell, too, and that place was something you were acutely in tune with.

“Anthony,” you say, waving your free hand as the scent of blood gets stronger, pools of it already on the hard floor. “I’m gonna call you Tony, alright?”

Tony yells, wrenching his arms against the zip-ties and screaming until his voice is hoarse.

“Damn you! I told you I don’t know anything!” He sobs. “My leg—I can’t feel my leg, oh, God it hurts.”

You frown, glancing at the door.

“Stop lying to me,” you look back, eyes unblinking in the low light. “You still have one left—tell me where your buyer is and I let you keep the ability to walk upright with a cane.”

“I don’t know his name—!”

“I don’t need a name, Tony,” you growl, irritated. “I need a location.”

“Copenhagen!” He wails, body spasming and hair dancing atop his head. “The warehouse is in Copenhagen, please, that’s all I know!”

You blink.

“Denmark?” You mutter, brows furrowing.

“Fuck!” Tony screams long, his skull tilting forward as he releases his guts to the floor through quick gasps. Backing up a step to stay out of the spray, you watch him silently; thinking. The flood of the man’s crimson fluids ripples. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Denmark,” grumbling to yourself once more, you shake your head and sigh aggressively. “Of course.”

Without another glance, you turn and exit the room, pushing your Basilisk into its holster as the gear on your chest clinks lightly like the sound of rain hitting a metal roof. The door closes behind you, voice calling to one of the guards as he looks up quickly. His face is pale. Tony’s wails still echo out; water filling a bucket.

“Get a medic,” is what you settle with—slipping past on a fleet foot and new intel to pass on to Laswell. She’ll be intrigued, no doubt.

One step closer, your mind hisses to you. Just a little bit longer.

It’s too late to gain a conscious now.

Emmett Kinsman had been dodging you for years—dodging the Task Force—but with one of his suppliers giving away a location you’d been unable to pin, there was hope for a swift resolution to this mess.

The radio on your chest sizzles to life.

“Hart, sit-rep. How’s it lookin’ on the black site.” Kate’s American accent leaks into the earpiece attached to you, the cord looping the back of your neck and inserted into the shell; a device of black metal and plastic.

“I have a location for Kinsman. Copenhagen,” you ease out, moving a finger to the earpiece and pressing. Glancing at the rows and rows of doors in this endless hallway of dark smoke and obsidian mirrors—you’re eager to get your boots to the ground. Your other hand snatches at the rag swinging from your belt, taking it out and rubbing at your face with it until the stain of oil and flecks of blood smear like frosting on a cake. “Where are the boys? I need to be wheels-up to meet them ASAP.”

“Coming to you.”

“They’re here?” Your face twists as the words settle in, confused. “Why? Thought they were tracking another lead in Romania.”

Kate’s voice is smooth in your ear, moving like water as you turn a corner, stuffing your rag back into your belt.

“Are you surprised?” The woman jokes in a monotone; you’d only taken it as such because you knew her dry state of humor. “Really, Hart, you know he can’t stop until you’re back at his side. I was going to tell you sooner, but you were…occupied.”

Your feet pause for a moment at the beginning of her sentence, instinctual heat moving the length of your neck until you clench your jaw and continue onward at a slightly slower pace—eyes narrowed on the floor ahead of you.

“It isn’t like that, Kate,” you mutter. A low hum echoes the line and you fight a scowl as a group of soldiers walk past. Itching at your forearm, you shake your head. “John just likes having everyone together on missions like these. If it had been different, I’m sure he would have told me to fly back to them regardless of the intel. We’re tight on time.”

“I’ve known you both for more years than I can remember,” Laswell sighs. “Don’t try that with me, Captain.” You frown, clicking your tongue. “They’ll be arriving on the tarmac—get ready for a quick exit. We need Kinsman by month’s end.”

“Copy,” you utter, removing your hand from the earpiece and glaring ahead of you. A still-air silence envelopes the hallway, the only sound of your boots to the concrete and the reverberation that booms after.

It was so quiet here.

John Price—Captain Price—and yourself had a… complicated history. You’d joined up together; gotten through SAS selection neck-and-neck until time and its grubby fingers had forced your lives in different directions. Like two vines of reaching ivy, it had only been three years ago that you’d seen the other again, though you’d heard stories as you’re sure he had about you.

Hart: not the kind that beats but the kind that bleats, you had to explain to most—you weren’t unknown to the darker side of the job and the people that specialized in it. Your file was stretched with so much black ink that when you’d gotten the call on your phone, an unknown number, you’d recognized the gruff voice behind it and the first question you’d asked was how the hell he’d gotten clearance to track you down.

“No hello, then, Hart?”

“Not one for pleasantries, John. Explain. Quickly.”

“Business as always.” He’s wasted no time, voice going to a low grumble over the line that day. “Laswell took in a favor. You’ve been busy, Love…Room for one more joint-Op?”

It hadn’t panned out to only ‘one more joint-Op’.

After the mission was over, it had been raining on base. The sky had shed tears from clouds deeper than the gray shades of your gear, splattering packed dirt and concrete. Above your head, the thin overhang off of the armory door had spared you some of it, but when the wind had shifted your clothes absorbed specks of water like spots on a fawn. Your eyes had been looking out—expression open.

When the man exited the building and came up beside you, you both didn’t speak for a long time. You had been aware of his form, devoid of vest and gear, while yours was still layered with it to the utmost degree. You’d expected to leave that night—a good old-fashioned Irish Goodbye with a C-17 already waiting for you to board. To carry you off to another hellish deed done with ravaging cruelty for the sake of people who would never even know you existed.

The storm had stopped you…or, maybe something else had.

“Good to see you again, Hart,” John had stated, still not looking over at you as his arms had crossed, feet situating themselves. “Been too long.”

You had stayed silent—watching. The drain across the street was flooded. Sticks and leaves stuck at the drain as a whirlpool formed; only dangerous to bugs and the bits of garbage blown in by the wind.

Only after the wind shifts again did you speak.

“And what has John Price been up to in that time?” Your eyes had slid to stare, piercing in the low illumination of the armory’s outside light.

A huff of a chuckle, the one you’d remembered in the days of selection—coated in mud from crawling through man-made trenches and a sharp smirk of a snap when the barbed wire had grazed his back.

There were too many stories here. Too many. So many it became impossible to wonder what could have been and what couldn’t—all that existed were the little moments of fondness.

The two of you were nothing else but souls long past redemption; stuck on that knife’s edge and waiting for the hand to shake and send you through it.

You are made of memories.

“That’s a story told over bourbon,” John’s lips had flickered, and you’d blinked slowly, head tilting. “Not anything worth reliving, yeah?”

“Everything is relivable, Captain. You just need to find a reason as to why.”

The man had nodded his head your way, conceding with his blank eyes ahead to the rain. A rumble of distant thunder had flown out, making your ears twitch. You couldn’t stop watching him now that you had the chance—the brunette strands; the fatigues, and that accent. The muscle you don’t remember him having in that specific place all those years ago. The wrinkles on his forehead from age and stress are shown in yours as a mirror.

Tall; formidable.

There was a tension in the air that you chose not to dwell on—the same that had been brewing for as long as you’d known him.

“I want you to join up with me,” the sudden comment had made your body tense, eyes snapping away. In your pockets, your fingers twitch with surprise.

“Join?”

“Thought I’d catch you before you disappeared again, yeah?” A sheen of slight embarrassment is over your skin. John chuckles again. “Extend a formal offer—Laswell was the one who suggested it.”

“Well,” you’d huffed, licking your lips. “Now I’m surely not accepting.”

“Let me fuckin’ finish, Love,” John’s lips were pulled in a slight smirk—beard shifting. A pause as the wind whips again, shaking the trees before he grunts. “One-Four-One. My Task Force. Been thinking I’d need someone like you, but I knew you’d never agree to it.”

“Oh?” Your brow raises.

“Not bloody stupid.” He sighs. “Thought I’d ask anyway. Give you a proper goodbye if you weren’t so keen on handing it out.”

“I don’t like goodbyes,” you mutter, hearing John’s feet shift—his boots scraping.

“I know.” It’s low and even—not a prod or a dig. An observation.

A hand is moved out to you, hovering.

There isn’t any need for words when you glance down at it, and then up at him; staring into those blue eyes that so perfectly illustrate the hues of a roaring river, hidden away in the confines of a verdant forest.

A slow smile pulls at your lips, and you see the corner of the man’s eyes soften.

“Knew I’d get one out of you again,” he mutters as you slip your hand into his, a firm and all-encompassing heat of flesh and care.

“Don’t get used to it, John.” Shaking his hand, you smirk, legs shifting.

“Never,” he chuffs, squeezing your limb.

You don’t know why you stayed under that overhang with him that night. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to explain it as you had looked up and seen the C-17 fly off without you in its cargo hold, hands resting on your vest collar and blue eyes watching you, slightly narrowed.

You never even verbally told him you were sticking around…it had happened like a stray cat under the porch of your childhood home; taken in and cared for. Just the same, John never mentioned it beyond paperwork.

Shaking your head, you blink back to the black site, turning that last corner and making it to one of the exits. Pushing the metal-reinforced door open, you shift outside and move a hand to cover the glare of the setting sun from your eyes, grunting.

Laswell’s voice peaks back in as you jog toward the far-off body of a whirling plane, three figures just managing to walk down the ramp.

“Hart? It’s Laswell.”

“Copy,” you say, knees taking the brunt of the heavy items you carry in pouches and have strapped to your form. “What is it?”

“The Task Force is a go for Denmark—when you get there, I need everyone searching; we can’t lose him again.”

“Affirm. I’m on it, Kate.” You breathe. “John and I’ll get him. It’s personal for us, you know that.”

“That I do. Make sure to keep your heads on with this, Hart. Out.”

You lick your lips, nodding even if she can’t see you.

Slowing as you near the plane, friendly smiles spark up from the two Sergeants. Gaz comes over, grasping at your shoulder and speaking above the engine behind him.

“Ma’am! Good to have you back.” Soap chuckles, tilting his head your way as you grasp Kyle’s forearm—squeezing in greeting with a twinkle in your eye.

“Surprised to see us?” The Scot calls.

You scoff. “Laswell gave you up.”

“Damn,” Kyle moves back, fixing the cap atop his head and glancing back at his fellow Sergeant. Simon nods from behind the two to which you respond in like. “She bloody betrayed us.”

“Not as much as Kinsman,” the mood sours; lips thinning as you speak firmly. “Where’s John?”

“Right here,” the man in question comes down the ramp, blue eyes meet yours. A second of inspection passes, eyes from both parties flickering up and down forms for any mistreatment—any ailments. “Kate already told me. We’re leaving now that we have you.”

Bumping Simon’s fist with yours as you pass him, you ascend the ramp, Soap muttering under his breath about the flight time from behind.

Standing beside John, you pause like a bird, eyes half narrowed. “You didn’t have to pick me up, you know? I could have gotten another plane.”

The man the same rank as you hums, making sure the men are all inside and taking one last look out to the black site, eyes missing nothing down to the concrete structure to the lights that will soon illuminate the pure nothingness of the fields of this area.

“Wait time would have put us back.” Tiny eyes blink, a hand coming up to rest on his collar as his face shifts to you. “You good?”

“Always,” you mutter without hesitation. “Nothing from Romania, then?”

He grumbles, clenching his jaw and taking in your words. “Negative.”

A silence settles in which you quirk your brow—a small flicker of a smirk makes him turn away and stalk back into the hull, grunting in annoyance. You follow on silent feet.

“That’s it? It must have been horrible, then. Care to explain?”

“Get in your seat, Captain.”

You hold back a low chuckle, walking beside him until you both come to the back of the plane—easing back into the hard plastic, you huff as you clip in your seatbelt.

It’s all relative silence until the large metal beast is in the air; everyone's bodies shifting as the floor evens out. John and you take long breaths and, feeling the occasional jostle of the plane, you occupy yourself by picking at the dried blood all over your hands as the flight begins—Tony’s blood.

Blue eyes blink down at you, watching from the side.

“He know anything important?” You stifle a yawn on your lips, one hand coming up to cover the open-jawed expression of tiredness.

Glancing, you shrug with a slow response of, “Only a location. Even then I don’t know if it’ll pan out like we want it to, John.”

Everyone had been hoping for more, but they also knew that you were the best at interrogations and information retrieval. If you had called it that the man only knew a city and nothing else, John wasn’t one to question you. He knew better.

A large hand shifts to grasp your right bloody one, picking it up and bringing it to his lap. You let him do it without protest, shoulders loosening at the roughness of his calluses moving across yours until the familiar ritual begins to take part like a black mass.

Fingers twitching, you hear a hum as John takes out a rag from his pocket, opening it with a flick of his wrist. Moments later, the water bottle on the seat next to him is taken and the droplets that are left are scattered like rain over the fabric until they absorb.

“All dirty, Love,” he grumbles as your eyes soften, watching him trace the lines of your palm with the wet rag—dabbing away the beads of red. Watching, you listen as he continues. “We’ll figure it out, eh?”

Blue locks with you, holding your gaze until the permanent set of his brows slowly loosens. “We will,” he reaffirms firmly.

“...I should have shot him when I had the chance,” you whisper to John, words low and tone nothing more than a mouse’s murmur; a small pebble hitting the ground. “Don’t lie and say it wasn’t my fault.”

“You’re going to fucking ruin yourself with that, Hart.” He advises, his cleaning of blood coming to a slow halt. “You did what you thought was best,” John leans in closer, not blinking as you try to move your head away with a half-hidden scoff. A damp hand grabs lightly at your chin, shifting it back as you blink in mild shock into John’s face. He doesn’t falter. “It’s all any of us can do, yeah?”

As if it were nothing, he lets you go and shifts his focus back to cleaning your hand. You watch for a long moment, oblivious to the elbows hitting sides from farther down the hull, quick glances tossed between Sergeants and a Lieutenant who quirks a brow under his mask, huffing a sound in his throat.

“If I had,” you force back the stutter in your voice. “More people would still be alive.”

“Maybe,” John tilts his head, the rag brushing the length of your fingers. “Maybe not. We don’t know that, do we? No use wasting our breath talking about it then. What matters, Hart, is how we fix this.”

You sigh, repressing a shiver as his thumb brushes scars and blemishes, moving like moss over stone.

“And we don’t leave our bloody problems for the next poor bastard, do we?” You puff air from your nose, shaking your head at the smirked comment. You watch John’s beard move with it—taking in the crinkling of his eyes and the way his knee hits yours.

“Wonderful pep-talk, Captain.” You lean your head back against the netted sides of the aircraft, letting your eyes flutter shut; oblivious to the way he watches you. “The service is lost on you—therapist is right up your alley.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John scoffs. “I’d sooner go back to the academy than that.”

“The food was utter shite, wasn’t it?” You agree.

“No need to bring it up,” John comments lowly, amusement thick in his words.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know that the pressure around your limb stayed there for a long while—the rag moving over every sliver of skin until only the base was left behind; like a painter creating an ocean scene, shrouded in mist, every bit of red was gone.

Your dreams are plagued by Emmett Kinsman. His sharp face; his sly eyes and his knack for being undetected.

He’d been a part of your and John’s class in the Royal Military Academy—when all was done, he’d graduated and begun to serve in the 22nd SAS Regiment just as the both of you had. There was never much interaction there, beyond shared drinks and a few good words, a single operation, but the bonds of brotherhood run deep. If given the chance over any deployment or service, John or yourself would have given your lives for him—for the boy you’d bled and persevered with to a point of utter loyalty akin to beasts; unrestrained by any threat of violence, sharp attitude, or past faults.

And in the end, he’d thrown that all away to get into bed with terrorists.

Location: London, England

Time: 1718

Operation: ‘Purple Cloth’

Your eyes rest behind the glass of the bookstore, gazing out over the street from the second floor with a level of new-found skill and a surety in yourself. Fresh off the cut, you aren’t overly eager for this, but you’re assured in your abilities.

There can be no failure.

Emmett is down below, sitting at a café and sipping tea as John is stationed at a building farther down the street; waiting. Another man, directly relaying information to Emmett, is at the café as well, sitting in the corner reading a newspaper and facing the individual you’re supposed to follow. Only the four of you for this, and you’re not overly familiar with half of them. John was your only shining grace.

“Target’s getting the bill,” you shift your head into the collar of your shirt, muttering. “He’ll move soon.”

“He carrying?” John’s voice slithers in, a soft murmur.

You stare, expression lax at the large body that shifts and stands with a tight shirt on, waving off the barista when she tells him to have a good day. “If I had to guess? Negative. Nothing big—no bulge at his spine. At the very opposite end, I’d say an X13 could be concealed and accessed via a slit in the pant’s pocket and in a holster at his thigh. They’re baggy enough for it, but the draw time’ll be longer. Drug runners are sloppy.”

John grunts, and you address Emmett. “How are we doing, Mate?”

A smooth, suave, tone moves into your ear. “Not too bad, Sweet Thing. Else, I'd be better if you were sharing a drink with me before I disappear.”

“Only in your imagination, Kinsman,” John interrupts, unimpressed drawl taking your attention. “Keep on it.”

“I swear I rank the same as you, Price. Where do you get off ordering me around like your dog?” The comment is so easily dismissed as a joke between comrades that there’s no hostility there.

“Since I was given oversight,” the amusement is easily taken in John’s voice. “I’m the one keeping your arse alive, eh?”

The other addition to your team speaks up, a voice that in the future you’ve already long forgotten. He says to cut the chatter, and you have to agree.

Emmett and the target are nearing an alley.

“I’m heading down,” you utter, already turning and heading to the stairs, swiftly moving down them and exiting the building.

“Copy,” John’s voice fizzles the line. “I’ll head them off.”

“Emmett,” you move to link up with the fourth member of the team as he joins at your side, both of you sharking a glance and a jerk of your heads. “Keep him away from civilians. We can’t deal with casualties in this populated of an area.”

“He won’t have a chance to shoot them,” the comment makes your brows furrow, the tone not a cocky gloat but rather...quiet. A moment of silence wafts out. “What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Kinsman?” You frown tightly, your gut swirling with something unidentifiable. The X12 in the back of your baggy sweatshirt is heavy—suddenly ten times more so.

In the corner of your eye, you see John far across the way shift, leaning before on a trash can, now standing upright. You swear you lock eyes with him, both gifted in all sense when it comes to war. Perhaps it was ingrained into both of your DNA—a knowledge of all things deadly; of threats unseen. Some primal and horrible understanding spanning back to when man had first raised a fist to another.

“Oi,” your voice pushes. “What does that mean?” Feet pivoting, you move closer to the alley where the light shade of hair disappears.

The line is silent.

Silent before a loud gunshot rings.

Birds scatter, and you instinctively duck down, hand snapping to your service weapon as your eyes go wide. Head snapping about, you dash to the alley opening above the screaming; pushing past fleeing people.

“Hart!”

“He’s in the alley!”

“Do not engage until I get there, do you hear me?!” You’re already at the entrance, X12 ahead of you, and the safety flicked off with a heavy finger. “Hart!”

The body of your mark is on the ground—a bullet in the back of his skull.

“Fuck!” You shout, feet slapping the concrete as you zoom past. “Price—target’s down, Emmett shot him in the damn head, on his tail now.”

“Fucking hell.” The man is growling out at you, voice heated.

Your eyes snap this way and that, weapon at the ready as you take a sharp turn. At the very end of the opening, you see him.

Kinsman slips his service weapon back into the base of his spine, pulling at his shirt to cover the grip as a mass of the crowd is just behind him. He rushes quickly on long legs.

“Emmett!” Your voice makes him freeze. There’s a long pause before anything is spoken; you have your sights trained—a perfect line-up to the roundness of his skull.

“I had hoped to be fast enough,” the man tells you, head tilting to the side, “but I should have known you’d move head-long into danger without backup.”

“Hart,” John’s voice nearly startles you from the line. “Sitrep, now!”

“Why would you do that, Emmett?”

“There’s more to this than being pawns, Hart,” Kinsman growls at you. “I play my game right, I always come on top. I needed to earn their trust; our target had a price on his head and no one else could get as close as me. Well,” he pauses, “us.”

“I’m taking you in,” you grit your teeth, hands tight on the gun. You don’t even want to think about what he means by ‘their’ or his ‘game’. It was always word puzzles with this man—one second you had the right piece, and the next the entire picture had changed like sand in the waves of a tide.

“Are you really that torn up about a drug runner?” A scoff makes you hold back a snarl, but your resolve is shaking. This was a man you had trusted—now fast can something that was forged with steel break?

“He was just some filthy nobody, Hart.” Emmett starts walking into the crowd ahead of him, and in your mind you know if you take that shot you run the risk of shooting an innocent civilian. “I’ll be more than a nobody. Or a grunt soldier. People are going to know me.”

Bodies flee quickly—screams. Mothers, children, husbands.

Kinsman smirks, and as your finger tightens on the trigger, he’s already swallowed by the hoard.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

John and you sit in the safehouse, for a moment, surrounded by quiet and the smell of hot tea. One week in Denmark, and you have no leads. The other three are away, sleeping in the rooms down the hallway.

“You’re still thinking about him,” John speaks up, eyes on you. It’s blunt, but that was just how he was.

You peek your eyes open slowly, your body slouching in the chair and feet outstretched under the table. Your boot lightly touches John’s own. A long sigh exits your nose, grumbling on your tired lips.

“John,” you level, drawing the name out like the years of your life. A thin warning.

The man clenches his jaw slightly, bringing up his cup and taking a slow slip. You see the flesh of his throat bob with the liquid as it goes down, the overhead light of the kitchen only a single bulb of warm glow.

“Been chasing him for years, Hart,” he says when the item is back to the woodgrain. Voice a deep murmur—a scrape of vocal chords. “We both have.”

“He knows too much,” you reply. “I can’t let him get away again. Strategies, operators, everything.” Your eyes shift as your head raises, blinking away the sleep in your glinting orbs. “For years he’s been under our nose, getting away with who knows what—”

“Hart,” your rant is interrupted, and you stop with a snap of your teeth. Blue eyes lock a concerned sheen to them. “Breathe.”

Your face moves away, arms loosely crossed over your chest tensing.

John’s body shifts to you, leaning forward until his elbows are resting on his knees. He stares, brows a line on his flesh. You send a swift glance, lips pulling.

“...Stop that,” your voice murmurs, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. John blinks, not speaking as you move in your seat. The man tilts his head, a slow something making his lips go back slightly. Gradually, your face goes hotter, blinking at him a few times; sucked in like a fox to a trap. “John, quit it.”

“M’not doing anything, Love.”

“Bullshit,” you try and glare at the looseness of his expression, his smirk that makes your gut tighten. Goosebumps move up your arms. “You’re a horror.”

A low chuckle wafts out, John shrugging casually before he leans back.

He takes up his cup again and takes down the last of the remnants. “Go to sleep,” hits your ears as your pounding heart takes a breather. It’s a grumble on the air—not as much an order as it is a suggestion. “It’s late.”

You decide to sip at your own drink as well, eyes drooping at the steam that wafts around your face, nose twitching to the scents.

“You?” John hums, looking you up and down; seeing the fatigue you carry. You’d been relentless for the week you’d all been here, holding the few strings of the lead you had to your chest—five-fingered grasping with a desperate prayer to all things unholy.

“I’ll be here.” You tilt your head his way, eyes still half-closed in your seat. Your answer is easy, pushed out in a slow sentence.

“Then so will I.”

John sighs under his breath. It’s a moment before an exasperated chuckle moves through your earbuds. You smile, eyes slipping closed fully.

Yet, they startle back open as the cup is taken from your hands, your chair moved back firmly.

“Up you get, then,” John grunts, and his arms snake around you. Blinking quickly, your jaw is slack as you get taken up into a tight carry; John’s chest firm and your nose brushing the side of his chin.

Air getting sucked into your lungs, you stifle a hitch in your breath.

It’s only after he starts walking forward, hiking you farther up into him, and his fingers gliding over your clothes, that you start to relax. His heat seeps like a warm fire.

Head sagging to the side, you grumble into his neck as you miss his eyes looking down at you, eyes soft in a way only you would have been able to see. “Can walk, y’know.”

He hums, head shifting back to the hallway as he carries you to the last door on the right, bumping into the wood with his shoulder and shifting to walk in sideways so you don’t let your legs on the frame.

“Remember Preu? 05’?” John asks you, moving over to the bed and setting you down slowly, a tiny huff exiting his mouth. Your body sinks into the mattress, head to the pillow as your hand comes up to rub at your eyes. The man moves to grab the blanket at the end of the bed—knowing your trained habit of sleeping atop the comforter on operations; not tangled up in sheets just in case. He slips off your boots. “Carried you two miles.”

“I recall it,” you grunt, a tired flicker coming to your lips. “Bleeding out and all.”

“Well,” John hums, quirking a brow. “Wasn’t about to let my Hart die on me. Blood was the least of my worries.”

Your pulse flutters at the title, even if it’s just your codename and not the beating muscular organ inside of your breast.

My Heart.

But it’s never that simple.

A hand moves up your cheek, a kiss pressed to your forehead.

The both of you already know you love each other. It wasn’t a secret. You were smart; eyes sharper than a blade—you caught the way he watched you, saw the softness of his expression, and felt the drag of his hand. Just as he caught the way you stayed beside him, an ever-present pair of eyes watching his six. The content nature that only you showed him.

With feet so eager to leave at any moment, it said much that you chose to exist near him simply because you wanted to.

You loved each other.

Boil it down, and you’d both known even back in the Academy that it would be the two of you at the end of all things. The rivers said your name. The valleys rustled with the breeze of your breath. You saw John in the bits of water that sloshed the rocks and in the earth beneath your palms.

Over the years you’d been apart, the yearning hadn’t been any less sharp—any less potent. In every birdsong, the echoes of the other's voice flew and disappeared on wingbeats. In everything that existed, there was a fraction of what should be.

What should be.

“John,” your voice is a whisper, nothing more than a rustle of a cloth. He keeps his lips to your forehead, resting there for a moment against all sense and responsibility. John’s eyes droop down, lashes resting on the swell of his cheeks. “You know I love you.”

He takes a breath. Rain is in the air—the movement of a storm’s wind. A leaving C-17.

It’s a low mutter into your flesh.

“I know.”

You grasp at his wrist, pulling lightly. Without a noise, John slips in beside you, kicking off his boots with a single clop of the soles to the wood and the movement of your blanket. He grunts, pushing his nose into your scalp, arms going around your middle. Your head slots under his chin, lips to his Adam’s apple.

The house is silent beyond the murmur of the pipes—the buzz of awaiting electricity.

So many memories. So many lost dreams. It was akin to two skeletons lying in a grave of their own making, forever holding the bones of the other. Duty and honor are etched into the fractures.

But he still holds you, he still murmurs into your ear, “Sleep, Love.”

“And you?” You ask, mirroring the conversation in the kitchen.

John’s lips move along your flesh, moving into a soft smile as he glances down at you. His beard scrapes you delicately.

“I’ll be here.”

Then it is here you’ll stay, dreaming of deer and the way nothing could compare to how he held you in his arms.

—

“I have eyes on,” your head snaps up, blankly staring ahead as your fingers hover over the hanging beads of a wind chime. You stand outside of a restaurant in the heart of Copenhagen.

Laswell had sent in more eyes for the Task Force to use—local soldiers that knew the layout of the city better and where would be a good place to look. For days you’d been moving through the streets; far-off storage units and hidden buildings providing fruitless harvests. Anthony had said a warehouse, but that was panning out as nothing as well.

False information? Possibly, but unlikely. The man had been genuine in his pain and pleading, and it only served to confuse you more.

You had Gaz with you and five others, taking over as the leader of this fireteam while John headed the other with Johnny and Ghost. They were on the opposite side of the city, and you can’t help but compare this to the moment Emmett had become an enemy.

But divide and conquer was the only option in times like these.

Emmett had become someone, just as he said he would. The man was in charge of supplying arms to terrorist organizations all over the world, and with his knowledge of how the SAS operates as well as any number of special forces, he’d utterly disappeared off the radar.

A wraith of lies and murder.

He had locations all over the globe with his goods, shipped out for money and power.

And now you have a positive ID.

“Where are you,” your voice is hard and stiff, the body already moving back from the chime and leaving its little bits and bobs swinging.

“Café down the street,” feet nearly locking together, you continue down the street to where you know Gaz’s last position was. “He’s just…sitting there.” A pause. “You want to know what it’s called in English, Ma’am?”

“The café?” your brows furrow, jogging across the street.

“‘The Warehouse.’” Growling under your breath, you shake your head and send a curse into the air after a pause.

“I think the man thought he was clever,” Kyle’s voice is smooth and teasing.

“Should have shot his other leg,” you grunt. “You told Laswell? John?”

“Negative, I’ll get on it—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt. “Tell the others to group up at your position and spread out to create a choke point; we can’t let him get away.”

“Rog. Will do.”

You patch into John’s frequency.

“We have him,” you instantly breathe out. “Down Holbergsgade—café called ‘The Warehouse’.”

It’s swiftly that an answer hits you. “Get him surrounded, we’re coming.”

Your heart is moving rapidly, fast in your chest as you pass people and business quickly. You didn’t like this—didn’t like the similarities, the…nostalgic dread that builds. A café of all places? Sitting down? Waiting?

It was so ironic it made alarm bells go off.

“John,” you lick your lips, glancing at faces as they pass. “I think he knows we’re here.”

“Explain.”

“A café?” John’s low grunt lets you know he understands. “Just sitting there? He knows—he’s not dumb enough to throw away all of his secrecy just as we so happen to get here and begin looking for him.”

“How sure are you?” The man takes your words into account, and you hear his breath puffing as he runs to your location.

“Ninety,” you breathe.

“Then I’m callin’ it off.” Your eyes widen, feet skidding as you come to a stop.

You have no clue as to how far John will go to keep you safe—even if it means potentially letting one of the SAS’s highest HVTs go. There wasn’t anything that could compare to the thought of you getting in harm's way. Not you.

John had spent his whole life watching soldiers die in the worst ways possible; they haunted his dreams and he knew they’d follow him to his grave—men he’d led down paths that they never should have been on.

Not you.

Losing you would break what little was left of him, the remnants held on by tape and sheer stubbornness. One of the last old faces he could still look at anymore; could draw comfort from in the thin hours. To hold and to love.

You both knew you wouldn’t stand for it.

“No,” your voice cuts across, monotone. “I’m not allowing that.”

“Bloody hell, Hart, listen to me—do not,” John growls, making your spine tingle, “go after him. If he knows we’re fuckin’ here, we need to pull back and close off the area.”

You’re walking forward, that same pressure of a gun at the back of your spine. It was almost poetic.

A thought sparks. Years of knowledge and understanding lighting up.

Emmett was a snake.

A snake that liked to play games and prove points; greed stuck into his brain for reasons you can’t quite say for certain. Even if you did catch him, he would never tell the locations of his goods or the buyers.

But there was one way to find out. One way this might turn.

“There’s a tracker in my arm,” you speak, growing more sure of your actions with every fast movement of your body. The café is just up the street, and a head of blonde hair is a knife to your vision. “I asked Laswell to insert and monitor it years back when I had to infiltrate a cell before I joined up with you again. Cautionary procedure since I had to forgo my rig and gear.”

A sharp bark. He knew what you were insinuating. “Hart!” You were going to get yourself taken hostage.

“Get Kate to watch it, John.” You move off his frequency before he can comment again, half of a roaring refusal cut off. Speaking to Gaz with a restricted throat, you say, “Kyle?”

“Right here, Ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t engage—I’m moving in.”

A stiff breath is taken in. “W…what was that?”

You don’t reply, only saying, “Whatever happens, I order you and the others to stay back, yeah?”

Your hand pulls the earpiece out and shoves it into your pocket right as you slip into the chair directly across from Emmett Kinsman.

“Emmett,” you say in greeting, moving up a few fingers to a barista with a low call of your order. The individual nods and moves off before you lock on green eyes; they nearly make you flinch.

You can only imagine what Gaz is telling John right now.

Kinsman blinks at you, but he isn’t surprised. You were right.

“Hart,” the man smiles. His voice is still the same, though he looks older. “Pleasure seeing you again. Enjoying the sights of the city?”

“Not particularly,” you stare at him.

He chuckles, tilting his head before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows and continues.

“You always were serious. No fun.” You take the insult without any emotion, blinking at him slowly. What was his play?

“Why?”

“You already know why,” he shrugs, dressed in a nice suit. “I’ve made a name for myself—my name will be remembered for ages.” A twinkle in his eye. “SAS soldier turned weapon supplier; isn’t it exciting.”

“It’s a disgrace,” you lean forward, only stopping your voice from rising as a cup is placed down in front of you by the barista.

Your face plasters a fake smile and you nod, moving it in front of you. Emmett watches with a smirk.

“I call it a change of heart.” He sighs, smirk simmering to a casual smile. “But I am glad to see you, you’ve been creating a big mess of things and I took it upon myself to have a meeting between us as old friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” you growl. “You’ve killed innocent people for no more than a fucking paycheck.”

“Well,” he snorts. “I don’t kill anyone. I’m the middle man—there’s a difference.”

Rage makes your eyes go to slits.

“And innocents, Sweet Thing?” Emmett leans in closer, face so smug and open you want to pull your weapon on him and worry about the consequences later. “What do I call what you do then?”

“A necessary evil,” you huff. “One I carry on my shoulders just like every other soldier does. One that was far better than supplying terrorists.”

Kinsman shrugs, moving back and picking up his drink, swirling it. “If you say so.” He hums. “You have to try the pastries here, you know. They’re very good.”

“I know you’re here because you expected us to find you, what I can’t figure out is why you broke your cover in the open instead of turning yourself in.” You look around at the faces in the outdoor seating, studying them trying to pinpoint if they’re civilians or in league with Kinsman. “Tell me before I decide to shoot you right here and now and end this regardless of hidden goods.”

“You already tried that, Hart,” Emmett laughs. “Pointing a gun at me didn’t work last time.”

“I’m not going to use a gun,” you ease out. “I’m going to take the butter knife on the table and slit your throat.”

“Uncivilized,” Emmet grumbles, frowning at the silver object near your hands. “It isn’t even sharp.”

“Good.” Green eyes narrow, unimpressed. He sighs, fingers moving in an outward gesture of exasperation.

“If you must know before the main finale, I wanted to bring you here to say that I’m thoroughly impressed with your drive.” You try to stave off the shock in your stomach at the words coming out like a charmer’s flute. Raising a slow brow, you’re caught off guard. Emmett chuckles. “You nearly caught me at several instances throughout our game of cat and mouse. Many times I forget who the assigned roles were even given to; I’m telling you that I had fun.”

You stare, face tight.

Emmett hums and his eyes go to slits.

“But every game has to come to an end. I’m growing tired of it.”

The building across the street erupts into a great ball of fire.

—

John hears the explosion in the air, the shockwave that leaves his body halting to look into the sky in time to see black smoke.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Fuck!”

He rushes into the panicked crowd, memories stuck in his head and a bone-deep fear he’d been feeling since you cut the connection in your earpiece. Gaz had been relaying to him what was going on action for action—a football game, only the difference was that your life was on the line.

“Kate,” John shouts. “Get the authorities down here now! We have an explosion on Holbergsgade.”

“Explosion?” The woman’s voice is sharp and disbelieving. “What’s going on—”

“Hart’s in the bloody crossfire, there’s no time!” John’s face is tight, wind whipping past his ears as screams fly on the wind; crying. “The fool is trying to get herself taken fucking hostage for intel!”

Whatever else was said was lost to the wind—Gaz comes over the line, calling to him in a panic as Johnny and Simon join in.

“The entire building just went up in—”

“Fucking Christ—”

“Price, what is this?”

“All of you get down here!” John sprints past people on the ground, ripping his gun out of the back of his waistband. There’s no arguing.

When the Captain turns the last corner, carnage greets him.

The building across from the café was reduced to nothing but rubble and a still-burning flame. Eyes wide, John only looks at it for a few moments, too preoccupied with you.

Where were you?

His jaw clenches, eyes burning with rage. Such a perfect soldier yet such a flawed sense of teamwork, he had a feeling you’d try something like this—had left Gaz with you for that very reason. Fuck he should have been at your side. He should have known.

A low grumble moves through his lips, head snapping all around. There are bodies on the ground. Blood pooling under thick building material—fabric in the breeze.

“Hart!” John yells, running to the café and seeing the remnants of a fast fight.

The Captain’s heart drops to his feet, face burning with hellfire so much that a sheen comes to his cheek. His hand moves out to touch the handle of a butter knife that had been slammed into the table now half-fallen over, eyes stuck on only one thing on the ground under it.

Through the wails and the call of sirens, the man stares at the two long fingers sitting in the dust.

Never in his life had he felt a fear like this.

—

“I wanted to be kind about this,” Emmett fiddles with the wrappings of his bandaged left hand, only three fingers remaining. “I was going to make it quick.”

You’re locked in a cell-like room, head to the side and blood leaking out of a cut face. Burns travel up your arm, the sticky puss leaking out only serving to make you shiver. You don’t know where you are—don’t know what happened after you severed Kinsman’s fingers with that knife.

But you know the pain isn’t something that you haven’t already gone through before.

Your voice is hoarse but firm as it leaks out of you, vision spotty. You’d been thrown in here after a ride in the trunk of a car. The ground is concrete.

“...Don’t make me laugh.”

Emmett growls, eyes wide with hatred.

“Pathetic!” He barks eyes looking you over with disgust. “Look at what you did to my hand!”

His other hand connects with the bars of the cage, producing a metal ringing sound as you push yourself up with one arm, eyelids flinching in pain. Sitting up, your body falls back to the wall behind it, and you grunt when the air in your lungs is expelled. You lick at your dust-coated lips, your head ringing and your focus failing. Concussion.

“Least of your worries,” you roll your jaw, a wave of pain making your body seize up and your hands tense with quivering shakes. Your mouth opens with sharp pants. Bile pools in the base of your throat.

It’s nothing.

John will come soon. The tracker. If Laswell can get it working again, you’d be out of here and you would have whatever this location turns out to be and the intel that it can offer you—computer databases would be a one-and-done game. You would get names, coordinates, and buyers. It could all be over.

Your clothes are melted into your skin, and when you move, they peel away with the remnant of your epidermis. The flesh of your left thigh and arm had taken the worst of it—and the cut from flying debris over your left cheek hasn’t stopped bleeding.

Blood drips from it, and a loud ache makes your head pound all the worse.

You’ve gone through worse.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Emmett snarls, the crimson bandages thick over his hand. “But it isn’t a problem,” he says, moving his other hand to slick back his hair. “It isn’t a problem,” the man utters again. “You’re going to help me. Yes…I’ve made up my mind. I need you to understand why I do the things I do.”

Your brows furrow, but above this burning in your head, it’s hard to understand what’s being said to you. Shadows move and Emmett orders one of his men to open the cell door.

You fight the black dots at the sides of your vision, leaking until you’ve accepted the reality of yourself going unconscious. As your body slouches to the side, hands ruthlessly grasp under your arms and drag you to your feet.

“Everyone has a breaking point.”

—

“What do you mean,” John glares at Laswell, his arms crossed over his chest; hands tightly grasping at his biceps. “You can’t find her?”

“The tracker was old, John,” the woman tries to explain, furiously typing at her computer that rests on the table in front of her—her spine bent over as the rest of the One-Four-One stay in a limbo of anxious looks. “To get it working again, it would need something to restart it. I don’t know if you can see,” Kate’s eyes are hard as they lock with his, “but I can’t do anything if she’s not here first.”

“Well of course she’d not bloody here Laswell, fucking Kinsman has her!” He shouts, hands moving out in a display of aggression.

“Captain,” Kate rises to the challenge, hand moving flat to the table and glaring with the heat of a thousand missiles. “Do not take that tone with me.”

John snarls and jerks his head away, feet on the ground trading weight.

The man was borderline feral—all snapping teeth and sharp glances. Gaz had seen him like this only a handful of times, MacTavish even fewer. Ghost, of course, knew, but even his brown eyes wouldn’t leave his Captain, absorbed in the way he was unable to stay still for even a moment. He was in full gear, too. Had put it on directly after returning to a local base.

John was ready to go to war, down to the rifle that swung from a strap at his side, the ammunition stuffed to his chest—sidearm at his thigh. A rabid dog with intelligence and the knowledge of where teeth needed to be applied to a neck for a clean kill. Simon doubted he wanted it to be clean.

John was ready to rip people to pieces.

“Give me something,” the Captain says in a low growl, beard shifting. “Give me what I need.”

Kate splays her hands. “All we have is surveillance of a car leaving the area—the smoke covers all chances of the drone we had flying picking up a clear picture. John,” Laswell eases, standing up, “there’s only so much we can do. We need to wait—”

“We can’t bloody wait,” Gaz speaks up, “What’ll he do to her in the meantime?”

“Garrick’s right, we need to be on the ground with this.” Johnny nods, mohawk bobbing. “That’s one of our own—we’re not sitting around with our thumbs up our arses, Laswell. Not with Hart.”

Simon blinks, humming. Laswell’s eyes shift to him, near pleading for one to be on her side with this and see sense. Ghost shrugs. “I’m with them. Hart’s one of our own; we’ll do what needs to be done.”

John’s chest swells with pride while his eyes get stuck on your file on the table, your printed picture, and your black ink—he’d never loved an image more, but nothing could beat the real thing. He needed you back. He’d gone through hell with you for his entire life; you’d suffered with him and only locked your hands together and held on tighter.

That was love—that was duty.

John Price wasn’t against skewing his morals for the sake of your safety. You would always be his most important mission. The man didn’t want to think about what might happen if he found you too late.

“Give me the video of the vehicle,” he grunts, jaw tight and his eyes beady. His body slightly leans forward to Kate, love going lower. “Or I’m going out there myself.”

Laswell frowns tightly at him.

“I just sent it into forensics—they’re trying to get a match. Go out if you want, but I won’t be able to stop the firestorm that comes out of it.”

She closes her laptop and moves past him, sending one last comment into the stone man as he towers ever taller.

“She’s strong, John. If you’re smart, you’ll keep yourself out of the crossfire until we have a definitive hit.”

Her voice echoes from behind him as his hands slowly move to clench into knuckle-whitening fists.

“If Kinsman gets a tip we’re still onto him—you’ll never see Hart again.”

—

Day Three:

Your days start blending. One moment you hear the snapping of your bones, and then the next you’re wasting away in this cell—ears ringing and eyes buggy. So much blood. Blood on the walls—blood on the chair they strap you into in the other room; even stuck in the groves of your flesh.

You don’t think you can stop closing your eyes and seeing a deer at the bottom of a bridge drop-off. It’s stuck in your head like a virus; those car lights in the back of your mind just waiting for you.

There’s no sense as to what they do to you—all its purpose is, is to prove a point to Emmett. A sort of broken retribution for your interference and his fingers.

Vain man, really. You’d told him as much when he was watching you get your own finger torn off my pliers; spit it at him as the blood from your bitten tongue stayed his suit. You remember the feeling of the knuckle popping first, and then the burning heat of the flesh being twisted to the side. Two firm yanks and the flesh had sprung like elastic, fissuring, the tendon snapping.

You think you blacked out after that, but you can’t be sure. All you remember doing is screaming.

You woke up with your left pinkie finger completely gone, resting outside in the hallway to mock you from past the bars. Your eyes could see the bone sticking out of it, and all that was left on you was a badly cauterized stump.

When Emmett had come to gloat, you started slurring out laughter.

“I’m going to rip you apart.” Your broken body had jerked back and forth like a marionette doll, only succeeding in spreading more red over the floors as green eyes widened and went dumbfounded.

It sounded like a choking fish.

All he’d done was left, quickly passing the pinkie left limp on the ground.

Day five:

You can’t move your body as they dump you back into the chair—the drain below you flooded over with crimson and bits of hair; vomit and torn-off fingernails. You’re unable to open your eyelids fully.

A hand grasps at your face, yanking it up into the overhead light until a bucket of water is dumped directly over your head. Your body jerks, coughing and darting forward until you’re shoved to the back of the chair and the rope is tied around the front of your shoulders, the second at your wrists.

Trying to suck down air, you shiver with the strength of an earthquake. Whoever said that they would never be afraid while being tortured was a liar; whoever thinks that they would be able to push through it—a fraud. Emmett was right, everyone had a breaking point.

But you admitted yours would only come after your death.

Your legs are seized, bent up as you hiss as well as you’re able, teeth snapping.

They’re dumped back down into a bucket of ice-cold water as droplets drip from your nose—wet skin for the moment only holding streaks of gore. Even with your scattered mind, you know what this means.

Heart tight and eyes widening, you try to push back in the chair; try to fight the rope and the way your body won’t respond.

A battery is rolled up beside you on a metal cart. Jumper cables.

There’s a low chuckle at the way your face goes fearful.

—

John shoves open the door to Laswell’s temporary office, already talking before it hits the far wall.

“Do we have her?” His hands move beside him, brushing the grip of his sidearm. He hadn’t been out of his full gear for more than five minutes in days. Waiting day and night for any word; sleeping in it, eating in it. The forensics team had been stumped, unable to get more than a model out of the picture.

But this might finally give him something to act on.

Kate is moving, grabbing documents and her laptop, speeding past him and out of the door.

“Kate!” John shouts, following after. “Hey,” he calls, grabbing at her arm to stop her.

The woman only halts to say, quickly, “We have a hit. Follow me.”

John’s heart is rampaging, pulse wild under his skin as his gloved hands twitch. Finally. He can only smoke so many cigars—only think of so many scenarios until he feels he needs to vomit. You’d been gone for too long. Every moment had been like trying to walk with a cloth over his head; lost.

He’d grown stiff. Stiffer than normal. Everyone had seen it.

“Where is it, then?” John asks as Laswell pushes open the door to the meeting room, the other three already inside.

“A property outside of Copenhagen—bought through a proxy on a fund that was linked to blood money in South America; it all went directly back to Kinsman. It was found only ten minutes ago.” A pause. Electricity in the air. “But that’s not how we found it.”

“How,” Simon asks, moving closer.

John gives the woman his full undivided attention, hands moving to rest at his collar in a soothing gesture.

“Her tracker came back on.” Eyes go wide, all sharing rapid glances as Kate opens her laptop and opens a man, turning the device for them to see. “Same location.”

Johnny blinks, his eyes narrowing. “And what does that mean?”

“That can’t have just done that by itself,” Gaz mutters, brown eyes sliding over to John who’s stiller than a wolf. The Sergeant pauses.

His eyes are dead set on that screen. His thighs were so tense it was nearly like the Captain was about to sprint out of the room. Kyle’s face goes blank at that, never quite seeing the extent that your disappearance had on the man. His superior had bags under his eyes; far more pale than usual. His apparel was ruffled, too. Even in the more serious of situations, the Sergeant had never seen John so…out of it. He was always the one with the even head, even if he had a short fuse with certain things. Nothing was ever done without thought, he should say.

But this is something else.

“Torture,” Simon gives his two cents and John’s cheek twitches at the word. “Electrocution. They jump-started it and didn’t even know.”

“Bloody Jesus,” John breathes. Everyone had already had a hunch, but no one had wanted to name it.

It’s a low rumble that makes the rest of them freeze, though. It was so dead in tone that it even made Kyle’s spine lock up; Johnny’s eyes went a smidgen upward. Simon, although his face was covered, felt his lips twitch.

John looks at nothing but that dot on the computer screen.

“Am I green, Laswell?”

Kate looks at John. It’s like setting a hellhound loose.

“You’re green, Captain.”

—

You’re tossed into the cell and your body rolls along the floor, bouncing and flinching until your back slams into the wall. Air is forced from your lungs, coming out in a loud grunt before you land on your stomach in a heap. Staying there, your nerves are fried.

Every moment you think the twitching of your fingers will stop—the dance of your muscles responding to the aftereffects of electrocution, it only starts back up again. Your eyes blink rapidly; your clothes have the scent of smoke to them.

Gasping for breath, you feel like you’re drowning and being set on fire all at once.

Yet the question in your head was a simple one, one you’d been asking for days.

Where was John?

Emmett enters the cell, clicking his tongue as the metal hinges squeak.

“I’m not surprised it’s taking this long,” he explains. “But I am surprised you’re still alive, admittingly.”

A boot comes out and places itself atop your shoulder, pressing down slowly until its full weight is on top of you. Your mouth opens in a shuddering sound of a dying animal, blood dripping from your ears and nose.

“I know you’ve taken torture before—even taken a part of it,” Kinsman sighs. “But, shit Hart, you really do scare me when I know you’re strong enough to get through th—”

Your body jolts up, grappling Emmet’s leg and twisting it to the side. Regardless of pain—of agony—there’s such primal rage inside of you that what little adrenaline you can bring forth is all that more addictive.

The man collapses in a heap, gasping, but you’re already on top of him, wrestling your hand to his neck, missing finger and all. Blood moves, staining his precious suit and dripping from your mouth into his hairline. You bare down your weight on him, teeth clenched and eyes wild—one orb holding nothing but red from burst veins and the other full of a vicious gleam of ferality.

Hands snap up to your wrists, mouth opening in flapping panic.

But Emmett has grown weak; he’s out of practice. All of those years out of the SAS, giving up on the training of the body to match the mind. The idiot wasn’t even carrying a gun when he walked into the cell of a charging stag, its antlers dripping gore, sharper than any knife.

When the flaps of his eyes fall there’s no gloating speech—there’s no snort of a tall and proper victor. All you do is take the front of his face, grasp it, and start sending his skull back into the concrete floors.

Crack.

…Crack.

….Crack.

Only when the sound of his head breaking open meets your ringing ears, do you force your wheezing lungs to take a large breath.

Emmet Kinsman died as he lived.

A fucking piece of shit.

“Fuck you,” you spit on his corpse, saliva bloody; his jaw is loose as you release the man’s face, eyes bulging. Falling to the side, you groan in pain, your body curling into itself until you resemble a sleeping fawn. You’re shaking more and more with every second, coughing with the force of an earthquake until your shredded vocal chores force you to stop.

But the brain is a funny thing.

In times of danger, survival is the only thing that takes priority. It was why, in a long shove of your hand to the floor, with your bones creaking and your vomit meeting the ground, you’re able to stand. It isn’t enough to help you heal the snapped bone of your right leg, however, and in a steadily failing stupor, you drag it behind you. In this state, nothing else matters to you besides a simple command: get out.

Your shoulder slaps the metal of the cell as you stumble out of it, careening into the far wall and letting out a loud shout.

Eyes fluttering, you connect your temple to the cool concrete, trying to breathe.

It hurts too much, your mind says. God, I can’t feel my limbs.

A long trail of blood follows you down the hallway as you slide along the wall, using it as a brace.

You want to see John, you whisper inside of your head. You want to be held by him—be taken into his chest; cared for away from all of this fighting.

A trip back to Herefordshire with him, to go deep into the country together; rest in the green grass where no one can find you for just a few good hours. It didn’t have to be forever, you would say. Just a few hours. A few hours of sky and earth wrapped in a time loop of just your own.

You want to kiss him there. In the open, out in the wild. You want to stay by his side, your mind thinks as you stumble over the three dead bodies in the left corridor, bullet wounds in their heads. You want to be by his side forever, no more gaps in years, not more longing. It’s so close you can nearly reach out and grasp it—

Your name is yelled on a heavy breath, and hands capture your shoulders as you fall straight into them with no more strength.

Blue eyes lock with yours as you’re hurriedly settled to the ground, body limp and eyes trying to stay open.

Blue eyes on a grassy hill.

“Hart, fucking hell.” Hands move your body, pressing and sliding—finding every opening and spreading blood like water. “Fucking hell! Hey!”

You’re yelled at, and the ripping of pouches and the familiar sound of bandages being wrapped come to the back of your brain. A hand shakes your head, locked under your chin as you take slow, broken, breaths.

“Please, fuck sake, please,” it’s a desperate growl, so familiar and yet a world away. Your body is moved and manipulated as every leaking wound is packed with so much gauze it hangs out of you like you’re a mummy. The burns along your flesh are crust and infected, open skin peeling back.

But the pain is lesser now. Easier to manage.

There’s such a ruckus that it’s hard to focus on John—the man on the hill. In the grass and the wind. Brown hair moves in the breeze as white clouds roll past. On the air, there’s the scent of rain, and in the far distance, you can see a group of ten deer grazing, ears twitching.

Maybe you’ll ask them if they blame their leader, or the two trucks on the end of a bridge.

“Keep your eyes on me!” You blink into John’s tiny blues, that mist rolling back. You stare for a moment as he frantically screams into his radio; night vision rig on his head and all-black gear covering him from you. His face is pale, his eyes glossy. “Look at me, hey,” he blinks as he notices you watching, surging forward. “Hey, keep 'em open, yeah? You keep them fucking open, Love.”

Your chest is heavy.

“John,” you push out a flicker coming to your lips as your vision slightly unblurs itself to the sight of a flood of blood on the man’s body—an unimaginable amount.

“I’m ‘ere,” his accent grows deeper with emotion, one hand holding your cheek and the other at your shoulder, keeping you still to stop any additional damage. “I’ve got you, you understand me? I’m not letting you go, so don’t you think that I will.”

It’s a double-edged sword.

A smile peels back your chapped lips, red running from the corner of your mouth. You glance at his stained gear again. The abyss swirls at the corners of your eyes.

“Is that your blood, or mine, John Price?”

You hear him scream for a medic, and then it all goes numb.

—

You dream of deer on a hill, but every time you search for John, he isn’t there. You go past rivers—

“She’s dropping!”

“Get me the defibrillator!”

—past copses. Your voice goes high and low, but all the while you look, there’s nothing but a nagging feeling in the back of your head that you shouldn’t be here.

“Again!”

It’s a strange nagging, truly. Like falling asleep in the middle of the day and waking up in the night without any remembrance of what had happened prior. A displacement of the mind.

“We’ve got a pulse, Doctor, do we stop and—”

“No, I need to finish off the internal bleeding or else she won’t make it another day. Get me the cauterizer, now.”

You blink and grip your chest, a sudden pain sharp in your heart as the grass moves about your ankles. Coughing, you bend over, your eyes fluttering rapidly. In the deepest part of your eardrum, you hear a murmur of a voice you can’t place.

“The man came back, again. He’s been out there for days. He just…sits there, waiting until someone tells him something. He can’t come in, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sure hearing his voice would help more than mine, but you’re in too much of an unstable condition for that. If you get another infection, you won’t…hm, I shouldn’t talk about that. Everyone in school said only to talk positively to patients when they’re like this. I…I’m sure he’ll be able to come in soon. I think everyone calls him John if that rings a bell?”

“John?” Your eyes flutter open, sharp light above you making you snap them back closed. No one answers.

It’s a long moment before you find the strength to breathe in the oxygen from the mask over your face, taking a long and deep inhale before a slight cough makes your abdomen tight. You flinch at the pull of stitches, all coming from so many places, that it’s unwise to move too much.

Gradually, you open back up your eyes, pushing past the sting. Inside of your throat, the skin is so dried out you can feel it cracking at every articulation of your words.

“Where's…John?” When you shift your head to the side, no one’s there. No one’s even in the room, either.

Blinking through the haze, your lips twitch on your face, skin tight. With a slap of your weak hand, you grasp the oxygen mask and pull it down to your neck, grunting in mild annoyance at the medicated numbness of your form.

Your leg is in a cast—and your left side is tightly bound by wrappings to hide away the burns where skin grafts most likely live. With a glance, you see the missing pinky and the bandages that cover the strange remnants.

The facial wound will scar, you know, but right now it’s patched over and healing. That’s all you can ask for.

Sighing long, you blink slowly at the ceiling, licking your lips. You need water.

Outside, the murmurs are missed to you as your unmarred hand reaches for the nightstand table, where a half-drunk bottle of water sits next to a tray of food. Even if your stomach rumbles, water takes precedence. Your throat was like the Sahara desert.

“Forget something, John?”

“Bloody fork. The bastard gave me the slip. Dropped mine, needed to go back and grab another.”

“Oh, that’s alright—you could have asked one of us to get one for you. We’d hate for you to miss any time for visiting hours.”

“It’s fine; gets me moving, eh?”

“Just grab us if you need anything else!”

A low grunt is accented by the opening of the door; immediately you tense and pause, neck fighting itself to shift forward once more.

Wide blues lock with your own, and it’s like every pain fades away.

John’s jaw is slack hidden under the layers of his beard bristles, brows going atop his head in an instant. The sound of a dropping metal utensil echoes through the room.

You both stare at one another for a long time, and the murmur of nurses accumulates to some peaking through the crack; their expressions also going to shock. A few scurry off, probably to get a doctor.

“What?” Your hoarse voice asks, unnerved by this.

At the sound of your voice, John flinches forward on his boots. The nurses get shut out with beaming faces as the barrier closes with a small click of metal.

Walking to the side of your bed, John clears his throat, eyes looking you up and down in two glances. A million things are hidden in them. After an opening and closing of his mouth, which you watch closely while squinting, he speaks.

“How are we feeling, then?” You breathe slowly and in tiny puffs. John looks at the oxygen mask as if telling you to put it back on, but you refuse for a moment.

“Like shit,” you utter, voice cracking.

With a huff, John pushes away your reaching hand and gets the water himself, unscrewing it. Bringing it to your lips, you take it down as he speaks.

“Easy, Love.”

When you’d had your fill and the ache settled, you brought a hand to your head and rubbed at your injured cheek before John sighed and grabbed at it, intertwining his fingers with yours and lowering the limb back to your chest.

You stare at him, and he stares at you.

“I don’t know what to ask,” you confess.

“You don’t have to ask anything,” John mutters, and his face is tight with worry. “You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, all you need to do is ease back into it.”

Your eyes snap back.

“Tell me if it hurts,” He speaks slowly, moving on one word at a time so the realization doesn’t dwell in your brain. “I can get someone to come in, yeah?”

Your hand in his burns, and John pulls at the chair by the nightstand until he’s able to sit down in it fully with a tiny grunt.

“No,” you say, “no, it’s…I’m fine.”

Better now that you’re here, but your body is tense. Three weeks?

“Just need to take it easy,” the man states, thumb running up and down your knuckles. “You’ll be better soon.”

A dry look is sent his way, and he hides a soft quirk on his lips. “You’ll be better, Love.”

You hum, head moving back more heavily into the pillow.

“When do I get to go back?”

“When you’re healed,” he grunts. “Not a fuckin’ moment sooner.”

“We get anything on the other locations of the—”

“Hart,” you’re interrupted. Blue eyes stare at you heavily, digging past every shield you’d put up and every fear. What happened was still heavy in your mind; it pained you to imagine it, even the way John had found you—even if it was all glimpses. “Slow down. That’s not an order coming from a soldier, it’s a caution from an old friend.” John says, squeezing your flesh. His other hand comes to your shoulder, sitting there heavily.

“Breathe,” he orders, face gruff. “We always figure it out.”

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning.

A low chuckle moves along the air a second later.

“Never sit down, do you?” A flicker dances over your lips like a butterfly. “Impossible, you are.”

“You’re one to talk,” you huff, eyes shifting back to him.

He’s smiling at you, and you can’t help but mirror it right back at the sight. Your facial injury pulls and tightens, but you would welcome an ache like that for as long as it stayed. A scar born of the stretch of lips is one well-earned. Only John could ever make it a reality.

The man stares at your lips, his wide build eager to stay over you in this state. He can’t stop himself from caressing your skin; to feel you alive and breathing. Talking.

“Scared me,” John admits under his breath.

You blink, your smile fading slowly until it was like it was never there. Your body builds with guilt; also something only he could bring. “I’m sorry, John.”

A small thinning of his lips is what you get, accented by a hum.

“Hart,” he grunts. “I…”

John’s eyes closed for a moment before opening back up—spearing you with their gaze. Your tired eyes crinkle in confusion.

“What is it?” Over the tingle of your flesh from where he touches you, it isn’t hard to forget the world is around you when he’s here like this. You’re nearly trapped by his eyes, yet you welcome it eagerly. His voice moves out, accent and natural gravel, all.

“I love you.”

Your nose lets a chuff exit. Was that all?

“I love you, too, John—”

“No, Hart,” he pushes slightly harder, moving closer and licking his lips as he glances away. “No,” John looks you dead in the eye as you lay here battered and broken within an inch of your life—a risk that you took willingly as if it had meant nothing. The both of you weren’t new to this; you both knew that on any day you or he would do it over and over again until it resulted in death. That was the way of this game; this trial.

You had both always been content with that, but when had it changed?

Why was the thought of losing you more fear-invoking than anything else he’d ever encountered?

You watch him as his lips utter the words, lips close to yours and your eyes locked.

“I love you.”

Your voice is caught in your throat, stuck in the throws of a quick gasp. Not blinking, the man waits for you—waits for an answer to the earth-shattering confession. But it all came far easier than you would ever admit to anybody besides him. It was already known, after all.

All that remained was the pesky words.

“I love you, too.” You beam, words low with intimacy. “I think I always have.”

John chuckles, a large smile pushing at his reddening cheeks. “Good,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Good,” he says again. “Well, I—”

You softly connect your lips with his, and you feel him pause, breathing you down for a moment as hearts beat at the same tempo. He sighs, one hand coming up to capture your cheek, holding it there for you as you sag into it and live in this everlasting moment.

It’s there you had a revelation.

It was never Hart to him. John had never been calling you that.

He’d always just been saying Heart.

You breathe out a laugh, when you separate, beaming in a happiness you thought was long gone from you—stolen in the dark nights and sold through even darker deeds. Neither of you was worthy of this, of the love that breeds in broken things. Yet, here it is regardless. Here, among blood and the blue eyes of a man you’d known since knowing anything became important. You had always known it was John. And finally, finally, finally.

“I would marry you in an instant, John Price,” you breathe when you separate, not weak enough to stop the words from exiting from the deepest part of your soul.

His crinkled eyes watch, reverently gazing at every blemish and mark; everything he could learn new again. John’s eyes are as soft as you ever imagined them to be, and he gives them over freely to you.

He kisses you again and leaves the taste of his heavy, happy, chuckle tingling across your lips.

“Seems I’d better get on that, then.”

A/N: This fic is strangely nostalgic for me even if I just wrote it - I remember the first ever fic I posted on here was a rescue fic, as well as a John Price fic; it's amazing to see how far I've come in regards to overall content/story building and how my understanding of the character has evolved. This might not be the best work I've posted on my blog, but I'm glad to say I'm proud of myself and how far I've come. It's so wonderful that I can have this feeling for such a big moment and still feel so drawn back to the past at the same time. Totally not tearing up at the thought rn.

Thank you all very much for your support.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting , @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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cvntluver444 · 6 months ago

Text

i’m your girl - ellie williams

ellie 📸 creds - s9ession on pinterest (and tiktok)

ellie williams x reader, slight!abby x reader

₊* summary : after catching your girlfriend cheating on you, your best friend ellie offers a little more than some much needed quality time together.

₊* warnings : smut minors dni, language, cheating, dom!ellie 🤭 sub!reader, light spanking, abby and ellie tensionnnn, slight ellie x cat, reader uses she/her pronouns, intended lowercase, bad writing, not proof read. if i miss any please let me know!! 🤍

₊* a/n : EEEEK hi everyone! this is my FIRST EVER FIC! don’t be fooled though, i’ve been apart of this lovely community for years and have loved reading all of your lovely works!! i really wanted to try and give this a shot because im a hoe and i have some crazy thoughts that i think need to be shared (this one really isn’t crazy this is like the third thing i’ve written so we are going to ease into it 🫡)

anyways i am so excited to share my first fic! it would mean the world if you guys left some positive feedback or constructive criticism so i know how to grow!! i’m also looking for new friends since i don’t post on here so if you want to be friends hmu 😋 i love you all!! again i hope beauties enjoy!!

🇵🇸 as always, please keep spreading information and support for Palestine! 🇵🇸

▹ daily click

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

walking back from a study sesh, your bubbly laugh fills the halls of dorm as your best friend her story of a disastrous hookup.

“oh my god, ellie. that would happen to you,” you huff out, trying hard to calm yourself down. ellie chuckles while smiling down at you. “i can’t believe cat said a different name!” you couldn’t stop you laughter as ellie explained the awkward interacting with cat. your laugh was her favorite sound in the whole world, which is why she always loved to tweak her stories just a bit. she knew just about everything about you, so of course she knew what made you come undone in a fit a laughter. so maybe cat didn’t actually say someone else’s name. maybe ellie said someone else’s name. maybe she said your name. but you don’t have to know that.

“yeah ya know” she shrugs a bit and pauses. “maybe she just isn’t right for me,” ellie shrugs nonchalantly. “anyways, is abby gonna be in the room?” ellie questions.

“yeah hope that’s okay with you, i didn’t tell her we were coming back so early so she will probably just be in our room and out somewhere,” you explain, as you reached for your dorm room keys. living with your girlfriend in the same dorm room would have some calling you a bit risky, but you never had any doubts with your relationship with abby. you’ve been together for a year now, you trusted her, she treated you good, and you were even kind of starting to picture your life together. however; that daydream becomes a distant afterthought as soon as you open the door of your dorm room. in front of you is your, now ex-girlfriend, naked and on top of none other than the infamous cat who ellie has talked your ear off about.

“what the fuck” you whisper out, your voice coming out raspy as your eyes quickly start swelling up with tears and your throat swells up. abby and cats giggles soon turn into gasps and their heads fly towards your direction. you feel ellie come to your side and put her arm on your back. “why don’t we just step outside quick, baby,” ellie sadly begs you, her voice full of sympathy, but also anger. how could anyone take advantage of such a beautiful girl. her gaze lands right on a worries looking abby who is rushing to put her clothes back on.

“baby no wait look please just give me a sec let me explain it’s not what it looks like,” abby rambles out a bullshit story but you can’t hear anything around you. your tears now rapidly falling.

“what- what- what the fu-fuck abby!” at this point, you can’t control any emotions. it’s impossible to try and stop any tears now. you’re defeated, hurt, and feeling betrayed. you quickly spew out a few choice words at the two girls rushing to get dressed, but slowly relax and fall into the tall body next to you. she gently grabs your arm and drags you out the door, whispering apologizes and begging for you to focus on her as you still throw some daggers at abby. finally clothed, abby forgets all about the girl she was just fingers deep in and rushes out the door towards you.

“hey hey hey please just wait please” abby calls your name as ellie continues to guide you towards her dorm. you can’t even look at her as you continue to cuddle into ellie, who’s arm is gently placed around your figure, shielding you from your panicking ex.

“just fuck off abby you’ve done enough give her some space” ellie turns to yell towards the blonde who’s still right on your tail.

“you can shut the fuck up and stay out of this williams” abby barks back. “this is between me and her, and the last time i checked, she wasn’t your girlfriend.” ellie’s hearts cracks a little at the sentence, wanting none other to call you hers.

“well after the way you just cheated on her, i don’t think she will be yours very soon either,” ellie smirks. abby and ellie get pretty angry pretty fast, spewing out nasty things about each other and who can treat you the best. you were going to go insane. all you wanted to do in this moment was cry.

“ellie?” suddenly, ellie stops at the soft voice that just called her name. she saw you, teary-eyed, staring at her with the most heartbroken look on her face. her eyes softened and jaw unclenched. her heart broke at the sight of you, but still could not get over the fact that you still looked angelic. “can we please go?” you didn’t even have to ask ellie twice. she nodded her head and gave you a quiet ‘of course’ with a sympathetic smile on her face, but didn’t leave without staring the girl in front of her down. she then turned towards you and flung her arms over your shoulder. leaning her head on yours, you two walked together back to ellie’s room.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the usual 5-minute walk back to ellie’s dorm felt like hours as it become harder and harder to hold back your tears. ellie didn’t speak one word to you, she understood that all you wanted in this moment was to be silent, knowing that if you opened your mouth once, you would burst out into tears again.

as you two reached her room, she gave a soft “hold on baby” and slowly released her grip on yours so she could unlock her door. you two entered an empty room thanks to dina, ellie’s roommate, visiting jesse at his campus. as much as you loved dina, you were so thankful you could just be alone with your best friend and cry. as soon as you heard ellie shut the door, it was exactly what you did.

as soon as she heard your heartbreaking sobs, ellie quickly rushed over to your side and engulfing you with her toned arms. she shushed you quickly and rocked back and forth, doing everything in her power to try and somehow make your beautiful face smile again.

“i can’t fucking believe her” you finally speak up after several minutes of silence and sniffles. ellie looks over at you, startled after not hearing your voice in a while. “we were together for over a year, we were literally living together in the same fucking room, like, where does she think i’m gonna go now? i’m not living there anymore i fucking hate her!” your sadness has now turned into rage and your slowly growing louder as your rant goes on.

“hey hey hey,” ellie tried to calm you down. “don’t worry about all that now, okay baby? you’re gonna stay with me, and you me and dina are gonna have a big slumber party and have pillow fights and make cookies and talk about boys.” ellie’s joke works miracles and brings a small smile on your face and a little giggle reaches ellie’s ears.

“there she is,” ellie smiles. “i missed that beautiful laugh.” you can’t help but get a little flustered at her comment. now that you were done with abby, your relationship was quickly forgotten when you remembered just how much you were in love with ellie before. you always thought she was so beautiful, and of course she always treated you like a princess.

when you finally worked up enough courage to speak, a quiet “i’m sorry, ellie” left your lips.

“what are you apologizing for baby?” ellie asks you with a confused look on her face. in the moment of catch your girlfriend fucking another girl, you totally forgot all about your own best friend and her crush, and how she was probably going through the same emotions as you right now.

“i’ve been being so selfish. i’ve only been thinking about me and my relationship that i completely forgot about your obsession with cat” you sadly smile and give her an apologetic look. you remembered all the times that ellie would gush about cat with you

“cats skirt looks so good” ellie seductively says to you while you grab your things out of your locker. you glance over to where cat was talking to two other friends at a locker bay across from the two of you. it is pretty cute you thought to yourself. you frown looking down at yours. just a plain boring white skirt.

or that one time when you two were putting off studying in your deserted dorm room

“wait stop scrolling! there! yes! let’s watch that one.” you questioned her on her choice because it was your favorite movie too and you didn’t think she would ever like it, considering she laughed in your face when you told her about it. “oh um i know yo- um it’s cats favorite movie.” ellie saves herself from almost admitting to you that she may have done a little too much stalking that night and found out a couple of your favorite things.

or the night of the frat party, the night ellie’s compliment to cat broke your heart so much, you’d call it one of the worst nights of your life.

“ok now my turn stop hogging,” you giggle at ellie and she shoves you away from the blunt. she finally hands it over and take a hit. you look around at the view of campus from on top of the frat house. “it’s sooo pretty up here, els.” you giggle as you blow the smoke out. ellie chuckles with you and you two burst into laughing. “oh my god how high are we,” you squeak out “ellie look and tell me how red my eyes are.” you’re suddenly staring straight at ellie, and in her haze she lets out a small ‘woah’.

“i uh i mean uh-“ she stutters out as you question what she meant and furrowed your brows. “i mean i was just looking into your eyes and thinking about cat,” she spews out “you know she just has eyes just like yours,” your small smile falls suddenly and confused brows now turn downwards. “uh yeah cats eyes you know they’re like a beautiful uh” while ellie tries to think, she then stares at you again and describes your eyes. cat has eyes like mine? i could’ve sworn they were different. your cloudy mind is not sober enough to realize what’s actually happening, instead your heart breaks even more, thinking that ellie has probably stared into cats eyes so many times she’s pinpointed every detail about them. once you two tossed out the blunt over the roof, you headed back downstairs together. still hurt with ellie’s rambles, you quickly get away from her as soon as your in the clear, leading you to meet abby. why is the worst time if it led you to meet your girlfriend? well, before the cheating, you would’ve had no idea why.

ellie’s hand in front of your face brings you back to reality, which is not fun. ellie is still sitting next to you on the couch and you have to ask her to repeat what she said.

“i was asking what you were apologizing for, baby. you were the one that got cheated on, not me.” ellie chuckles, but slowly realizes what she said. she see your eyes drop down again and the sadness returns to your face. while she’s quickly trying to come up with something to say to save herself, she stops when you stand upnn

“is it ok if i go use your bathroom real quick?” you sadly ask ellie, and she nods with a small smile on her face. you give her a quiet thanks and walk towards the shared restroom of ellie and dina. ellie brings her hands to her head and scolds herself. if you’re trying to make her feel better and give her a hint, this is NOT the right way to do it. she couldn’t shove down her feeling forever, but she also did not want to confess and risk losing you completely. she tried to clear her mind and think about what dina or jesse would tell her to do in this situation. while trying to focus, she could hear you shuffling around in the bathroom. she knew why you were really in there, she wasn’t stupid. thinking about that just made her feel ten times more guilty. she knew what to do.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

as soon as you go into the bathroom you lock the door and force the tears welling in your eyes to go away. you decided to wash your face with cold water to try and snap yourself out of your emotional roller coaster. you dry your face with the hand towel and turn to look at yourself in the mirror. you were still in so much shock at the events that happened tonight. you take in your messed up appearance and cringe. your bloodshot red eyes were not a pretty sight, and neither was the smudged mascara scattered underneath your eyes. you hope ellie wouldn’t be too grossed out by the way you look right now.

huhhhh?

woah okay the feelings are for sure back. you try to get yourself to look less dead inside by washing your face a couple more times. you opened the bathroom door and slowly walked back out to the couch. you sit back down next to her and put a blanket around yourself, meanwhile she is mindlessly scrollings through netflix trying to find something to watch before she stops on none other than you (and cats) favorite movie.

“oh hey what about this one” she looks over at you with a little smile on her face. you give her a confused look as to why she suggested this one, knowing it was cats favorite movie too.

“but, ellie, won’t that make you, i don’t know, sad?” you question. now she’s the one giving you confused looks.

“why is it like a sad movie or something? i didn’t think it was. i thought we could watch it because it’s your favorite movie and i thought it would make you feel a little bit better,” she smiles back. now you’re even more confused. for starters, she told you it was cats favorite movie, and also, you don’t even remember telling her it was your favorite.

“how’d you know?” you asked her. she replied with a little huh and you asked again. “how’d you know this was my favorite movie? i don’t think i told you that, and i thought it would make you sad because you told me before it was cats favorite movie.” ellie’s face suddenly turns from confused, to scared almost. she stated stuttering and couldn’t form a single word.

after a couple second of struggling, ellie says your name. “it’s not cats favorite movie. i don’t even know cats favorite movie. in fact, i actually don’t know a lot about cat in general.” she looks at you with an almost scared look. now she just completely lost you. when she realizes you still haven’t caught on, she finally begins to explain what she means after a long pause.

“it was never cat”. the room suddenly gets loud, very loud. your ears start to ring and your breath leaves your throat. you couldn’t believe it, again. the whole time you were pushing away your feelings for ellie, she was trying to do the same with her feelings about you. suddenly, you start thinking back to all the moments when you thought ellie was crushing on cat. slowly, more dots start connecting.

you glance over to where cat was talking to two other friends at a locker bay across from the two of you. it is pretty cute you thought to yourself. you frown looking down at yours. just a plain boring white skirt. you’re not the only one looking though. if you would’ve turned around to face your best friend again, you would’ve seen her also looking at your ‘plain boring white skirt’, grateful that she quickly replaced ‘your skirt’ with ‘cat’.

or that other night, after the blunt, when you were crying your eyes out to abby. ellie kicking herself outside and hoping, praying even, that you wouldn’t know the actual color of cats eyes, and that maybe you were even dumb enough to not know the specific details of your own (you were).

you wish you could go back and slap the old you in face, that way, you and ellie could’ve avoided this whole abby and cat mess and could’ve been together longer than you and abby ever would’ve been. now you’re staring up at, after she just confessed her feelings for you. you didn’t know what to say, well you did, you wanted to say that you felt the exact same was and you have since the day you met her, but you’re too slow so she keeps explaining to you.

“i’m sorry to bring it up, but when we walked in today, my heart broke. it didn’t break because i saw cat with another girl. it broke because i saw her with your girl, and i never knew anyone would ever be that fucking stupid to throw away someone as gorgeous, generous, and as selfless as you,” she pauses and you cry again for the millionth time tonight; however, this time the tears feel good. happy tears. she continues and says your name in the softest tone possible. “so again, it was never cat. it was you.”

“abby is not ‘my girl’” you cringe. ellie looks up at your quick response. “i always kind of hoped it was you.” you break apart your words, still scared to admit how you feel even though she just spilled her heart out. the response you got back though washed all your worries away.

“can i kiss you?” she asked quietly. you couldn’t believe it (x3). it was finally happening. every single event that happened up to this very moment has vanished from your mind. all you could think about was how you couldn’t nod your head yes faster. she gives you a beautiful grin before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and gently gripping our chin to pull you closer. at last, your lips touched and it was everything you imagined and more. after you two slowly made out for a couple minutes, taking a couple paused to breathe in between, the kisses started turning more aggressive. you jump as you felt a soft touch on ur upper thigh. you relaxed once she placed her full hand on you and rubbed it up and down. you let out a soft moan which made ellie groan and trail kisses down your neck. you whined as you suddenly felt her pull back. her eyes looked right into your eyes, and she placed her forehead against yours. you two panted as you stared into each others sinful gazes. silence took over for a while before ellie suddenly interrupted.

“can i take you to bed baby?” you bit you lip and nodded, your innocent eyes locked on hers. fuck, you were perfect. it made ellie’s iris’ turn black, and she slowly guided you to her room, littering your face with teasing kisses on the way there. she sat you down on the edge of the bed and got on her knees, lips never leaving yours. her hands caressed your thighs once more, rubbing outwards so that your legs slowly separate. your lips follow as she pulls away to see your skirt has ridden up and she smirks, staring directly at your wet panties. “oh baby” she groans, her focus fully on your clothed pussy, begging to be touched. you lean back and tilt your head so you’re staring up at the ceiling, eyes squeezing shut and a moan leaving your mouth as soon as you feel small kisses going up you thighs. “love those fucking sounds, baby. you’re so angelic.”

“el’s. t-touch me,” you beg, but she light slaps your thighs and gives you a couple disappointments tsks.

“sweetheart, you gotta ask nicer.” she pouts up at you, malice in her voice.

“please, el’s, i need you to t-touch me please” you drag out, embarrassed that she has you this worked up and she’s barely touching you yet. she smirks up at you and her kisses get more sloppy the higher she goes, and finally, her mouth is hovering above your cunt, her hot breath purposely breathing heavy. she loved watching you whine and jolt under her touch. how crazy she made you go even with just a couple kisses. she loves how much control she has over you, and how well you listen to her.

“lift up your shirt, pretty girl. wanna see you play with your tits while i eat this pussy.” her words alone make you want to cum, but then it would be over, so you pull yourself together and do as she said. out of no where, you felt a long lick up you pussy, you body tightening suddenly and letting out a humiliatingly loud moan. “that’s right, baby. let me hear you. do i make you feel good? hm?” you shake your head vigorously, staring down into her green eyes staring right back up at you. she now loops her arms around your legs and spreads them further, making you squeak. “fuck, such a pretty fucking pussy,” she moans, and slowly starts licking up and down continuously.

you’re a mess. one hand gripping her hair, trying to push her even more into you, making ellie grunt, her own panties quickly getting wet at how bad you wanna cum. your other hand is placed perfect cupping your left tit, playing with it just like ellie told you to.

“el’s you’re gonna make me cum,” you whine, your eyebrows furrowed and voice raspy. you look so fucking sexy right now, and ellie tries her hardest to take a mental picture for later.

“yeah? you gonna cum baby?” she teasingly asks you and you whimper out a mhm. once again speechless with the way ellie is slopingly eating your pussy.

you suddenly feel a finger teasing your entrance before it slowly slips in. your moans groan louder, and her pace quickens.

“el’s, ca- can i please?” you beg, the knot in your stomach was growing rapidly. she lifted her head up for less than one second, a stern ‘cum’ leaving her lips, before she returns back to where her tongue was. you scream as you do, vision going black as ellie fucks you though your orgasm, fingers now rubbing even faster on your clit, causing you to completely come undone and cum all over her face. she doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and overstimulating under her. when she does, the only sounds in the room are your quick pants, and ellie’s bed as she moves to scoot closer towards you.

“woah,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. “that was..”

“way overdue” ellie chips in. the two of laugh and you move to lean you head on her shoulder. it’s silent again before you finally speak up.

“i don’t think i ever really thanked you for taking care of my today. i don’t think i would’ve been able to have this much fun today if it wasn’t for you,” you tell her and you feel her hands that were once in your hair, come around and lift your chin to give her a kiss m.

“you don’t need to thank me pretty girl, i wanted to take care of you.” her confession made your heart flutter. “plus i knew that maybe i might have a chance to finally fuck you,” she teases you and you hit her arm, jokingly sending her a scoff.

“you’re right by the way,” she finally adds on. you give her a confused look and hope she takes the hint to explain what she meant. “you’re not abby’s girl.”

“i’m not abby’s girl,” you repeat.

“you’re my girl,” she tells you, eyes never leaving yours, a small smile on her face.

“i’m your girl.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

₊* a/n : ahhhh i really hope you guys liked it! 🤍 if you did please let me know because it would mean the world!

love you soooooo much MUAH

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie smut #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams angst #abby anderson #abby and ellie #abby angst #lesbian

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gguk-n · 4 months ago

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Chapter 1- The Arrangement

Arranged For Love (Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Everything seemed to be going well for Y/N until it doesn't. Will this life altering event bring her closer to her family. Will this life altering event introduce her to Carlos?

The reader is Y/N, other than that everyone has a name

Y/N was majoring in Business; just like her grandma, Anika Baker had wanted. "You're smart, you're rational and the best of all you're kind" she would tell her grand daughter growing up. That's why she was currently studying to maybe take over her family business when she grew up.

She grew up in a matriarchy, where after the untimely death of her grandfather; her grandmother took the lead and brought the company to where it is now. Eventually, she did step back and let her son, Ivan and daughter-in-law, Rose Aguirre handle it. That was when Y/N was born. The first born of their family, she was so pampered; she got whatever she wanted. She had her dad wrapped around her little pudgy finger.

So, when her parents were away, their grandmother raised her and her siblings. She fed them, helped them with their homework and best of all, told them stories of kings and dragons. Y/N would sit intently while her grandmother would massage her feet after a tiring day at school or give her a head massage when it ached. Y/N would always love spending time with her, one way or another.

Y/N was off too college as soon as she turned 18. She finally got to be back home after 2 years for longer than a few weeks; the reason wasn't something to be happy about since a virus had spread across the world and was killing people at an alarming rate. Which meant school, colleges, offices had all shut down and were working from home. When she hugged her grandma for the first time in 6 months; "You've gotten thinner since the last time I saw you" she squinted her eyes at her grandma. "You know how it is with age, I don't have the appetite anymore" her grandmother reasoned. "Well, you should still eat. I'm gonna make sure you gain weight before I leave" Y/N said determined. "Sure, sweetheart" she laughed. "Let's have food. It's nice to have everyone back home, together for once" she emphasised. Y/N held her grandmother's hand as they walked to the dining table for lunch.

A month or so after she was back, her grandmother had started feeling ill. She wouldn't be able to hold down any food and she had been complaining of a stomach ache. With COVID restrictions, getting an appointment was extremely difficult. After a week or so, thankfully, her dad was now at the doctor's office with his mother. The kids were at home, dotting it down to the regular stomach flu which was taking longer than usual to clear.

What came as a surprise to the family, after a couple tests was that, the matriarch of the house was suffering from stomach cancer. Couple more tests later, and it said that it had advanced quite a bit having spread all over the body. The doctors weren't sure what they could do other than ease her pain. Everyone was crying in their rooms while trying to hold a tough facade in front of Anika, so as to not worry her.

At breakfast, a few days after the diagnosis. "You lot are all cry babies. It's just cancer. I'll get the treatment and be well" Anika smiled. Everyone hoped what she was saying was true. But as the treatments started; things started to get worse for her. The medicines were taking a toll on her. Their once active grandmother was reduced to bathroom runs and staying put in her bed. She barely had the energy to eat on her own.

The matriarch's children were sad and couldn't help but cry since they couldn't do much for their mother other than watch. The grandkids would think of ways to make food exciting for their grandmother. The whole family had come together. They were all living together to care for their ailing mother. "I like this very much" Anika told Y/N. "What do you like, grandma?" she asked. "Having all my children here, fretting over me" she said looking at her 2 children fondly. Y/N smiled, "They always fret over you, for as long as I can remember" she replied. "Hmm...but this feel different...it feels nice" she hummed.

They had a scare a few months later; Anika's health had deteriorated suddenly and needed hospitalisation. When she was admitted in the hospital; everyone went to visit her in turns. "I wish I got to see at least one of my grandkids get married" she said barely above a whisper. She beckoned Y/N forward, "Darling, you're the oldest. You're the smartest. You always listen to your grandma don't you" she cooed. "Grandma, I don't like where this is going." she mumbled. "I know it is too much to ask for but why don't you get married. I'll find you a nice man" she reasoned. "Grandma, no. I'm only 20. I'm not getting married, not yet anyways." she whined. "ugh! I love you grandma, I really do but I don't have any plans of getting married, yet" she said pulling away from her grandma. "I'm going home. I hope you get well soon" she stormed off.

Y/N was fuming, she got that her grandma was sick and wanted to see major milestones in her grandkids lives and she wanted to share her happiness with her too but that doesn't mean she will throw her own granddaughter under the bus. She hated the fact that it was always her who would have to do as the elders told her to. Why couldn't it be her siblings or her cousins for once? Why did she have to get a married now? She has so much she wants to achieve, she can't be tied down just yet. People her age barely even remembered the name of the person they last slept with and she should get married; her grandma had gone crazy, she thought.

While Y/N was losing her mind because her grandma wanted her married; Carlos Sainz Junior was losing his mind since he got a contract with Ferrari next year.

In the world of Formula One, there was a change in tide. Sebastian Vettel would no longer be driving for Ferrari in the upcoming season; instead he was being replaced with an up and coming driving Carlos Sainz who was currently driving for McLaren. COVID had put a damper on things; but nothing could contain Carlos's excitement. He would be driving in red next year, something almost every driver had dreamt of when they dreamt of Formula One.

Carlos was your typical Formula One driver, he asked his father for guidance since he was a Rally Champion and looked up to some great drivers as inspiration. He had big plans; plan of winning his first race, plans of winning a championship title, plans of racing until he was 60 but none of those plans involved getting married any time soon. He couldn't imagine himself settling down, just yet even though his sister was planning on getting married herself. He had a long way to go; the biggest obstacle, he wasn't dating anyone as of yet so obviously marriage was off the table for the foreseeable future.

Now, there's a saying, sickness brings the lost together. That's exactly what had happened. Carlos senior had grown up with a family, albeit only for a few years of his childhood but those were formative years and he had spent a lot of his time with the Kastner family. They were his neighbours and even after they had moved away, they had still stayed in touch. He wouldn't forget their kindness and hospitality. For the few years that they were around he was incharge of making sure the oldest of the Kastner family, Ivan got to and back from school safely.

When Carlos senior found out about the ailing health of Mrs Kastner who would make him delicious food and baby sat them when necessary, he flew in as soon as he could with his family in tow. COVID didn't make it easy to visit the sick but Carlos senior would be damned if he didn't meet or introduce his kids to the woman he talked about. Carlos senior greeted Ivan, "You've aged" he laughed patting his back. "As if you haven't" he clapped back. The two happy to see each other after a very long time apart. "I heard Aunt Anika is sick" Carlos senior spoke. "News travels fast" Ivan chuckled. "Not fast enough since she's been sick for a while and I only found out after she was admitted" Carlos senior pointed out. "Yes, yes, she'll be discharged soon. She's been doing so much better for the past few days" Ivan explained. "That's good to know" Carlos senior sighed. "Can we meet her?" he asked hopeful. "I think she'll be over the moon when she find out you've come. She kept up with all your races" Ivan added. "I'm glad she did. I think it was the combined prayers of my mother and yours that I'm still alive after being this reckless" Carlos senior laughed. "That I will not disagree with" Ivan smiled opening the door to the hospital room where Anika was reading the day's paper. She placed the paper down to see who it was and a smile broke out on her face; "Carlos, darling, how've been? I've missed you" she spoke trying to get up but Carlos senior was already by her side, "Don't get up. I'm right here" he leaned down and hugged her. "I've missed you too." he whispered. She patted his back, "I see you've done well for yourself" she said scanning the faces of the 4 people behind him. He pulled away and introduced his wife and 3 kids to her. "Did he get into rallying just like his father?" she asked shaking Carlos junior's hand. "Worse, he's in Formula One" Carlos senior smiled. "Darling, stay safe. I might have to start praying for one more now" she shook her head. "This is the woman who was best friend's with your grandmother and they love each other too much" Carlos senior announced to his kids. "What team does he race for?" Anika asked Carlos senior drawing his attention. "I'm racing for McLaren now, but I'll be racing for Ferrari next year" Carlos junior replied. "congratulations dear. And Carlos, a bit narcissistic I think to name your kid after you" she laughed.

The atmosphere was lively and bright, everyone was busy catching up with each other and trying to let each other know what was going on with the other.

In all of this, the gears in Anika's head were spinning. If Carlos's son, Carlos was single he would be the right fit for her grand daughter. She had always adored and dotted on Carlos senior growing up, so it would only make sense that she would want a good family to take care of her grand daughter. If there's anything to go by how Carlos senior turned out, Carlos junior would fit right in with their family. She felt giddy thinking about the possibility of merging their two families. She knew if everything went well, they could easily be getting married at the end of the year or the beginning of the next. She just wanted what was good for her grand daughter, having something nice come out of it like a handsome and rich husband was a bonus.

The Sainz would be staying in town for a few days before they would be leaving. Anika had invited them over for dinner once she would be discharged since she couldn't send them away without feeding them herself. It was a day before her discharge and she was sat with both Ivan and Carlos. "Since the two of you are here, there's a proposition I would like to make" she said. The two men sat up straight waiting for Anika to continue. "I might not live long" she began but was cut off by mutual 'nos and you'll live a long life' before she shushed them. "Let's listen to the doctors and I know they are trying their best but we have to be realistic too. If I do live long, I'll get to watch the happiness unfold if don't then I'll at least be a part of some of it." she explained. The two men were very confused with where she was trying to go. "I want to make a proposition like I said, I think it would be great if Carlos's son, Carlos married Ivan's daughter, Y/N. I've always wanted to watch my grand kids get married, this way I can die happy" she finished. Their mouths opened and closed a few times before Carlos spoke, "Aren't they still too young?" he asked. "It's just a suggestion, it's up to you two and them to decided if they'll go through with it. Would I be happy if they got married? Obviously but at the end of the day it'll all up to the kids. I just want what's best for them" Anika said. The two men were thinking. They were stuck. "You two can think about it, maybe we can introduce them to each other at the dinner tomorrow" Anika said hopeful. This was going to be difficult conversation to have for both Carlos and Ivan, they thought.

Taglist- @herexpertcollector @redrevvedup @chaostudee @larastark3107 @jovialpainterunknown @vip-access @sugarvibez @champomiel @inarabee @virazeeee @seonghwaexile @champ15ns @ajthefujoshi @musicheaux @npcmia @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @mochipatch @gleeblegnarp @formula1-motogpfan @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs

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2neaky · 5 months ago

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𓇼°₊.𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 ❀ 𝙵𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝 🥭

—Want you to suck it sloppy, make it spitty. I'm 'bout to call your phone, so come get with me.

Know you don't drink, can you sip me?

‘Dunk Contest,’ Cash Cobain

Last Installation of this ‘mini-series’ … P.1 here -> P.2 here

not the best editing, i know. this fic has been in the drafts for abt a month & ... it's time for their story to be closed out.

10.06k!Warnings: oral (masc. receiving), handj*bs (fem. & masc. recieving), mutual m*sturbation, filthy talk, *verstimulation, low refr*ctory periods, technically w*tersports (minor), edging, excessive amounts of ej*culation, squ*rting, descriptions of character’s body parts (curvaceous/thick/girthy), use of the n-word (all characters & the writer are Black), original characters

The next time the group gets together it’s well into the fall.

Months of distance and busy schedules kept the friends separate. Yet, on a random weekend in October, the stars aligned to grant the friends a day of freedom to meet and catch up.

He won’t admit it aloud—that’s a bit too corny for him—but Ajani missed his people. The life of a working adult only gives but so much time for social gatherings. Especially with a whole friend-group.

Even then, it’s not like he hasn’t seen any of them since the party.

“I’on understand why you couldn’t just ride with me.”

“All my stuff is at my mom’s, ‘Jani.”

If he just closes his eyes, he can see the pout on her face. He glances at the screen, eyeing the contact name: Princxss Dia.

“Really? ‘Cause I almost tripped over your flat iron when I was getting in the shower.”

She groans out loud into the mic. “I knew I left it!”

He smiles, eyes now on the road as he makes a swift turn onto a busy street.

“Fuck,” he mumbles upon seeing the traffic.

“But if I came with you … then they’d know.”

He kisses his teeth, face screwing up. “Man, I care less and less ‘bout that shit every day. I’m pretty sure they know—“

“‘Pretty sure’ is not a confirmation. And I wanna make sure the time is right when we tell them.”

He spots a parking space in front of the restaurant Boku had chosen for the night. No doubt, he’s going to snatch that shit up.

“Why shit gotta be ‘perfect?’” he asks, looking at his rear view camera as he backs into the space.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. He can hear her moving around on the other side of the line. “I’m trying to … figure out a way to introduce it without … making everything weird,” she sighs out.

“How ‘bout, ‘hey guys, me and Ajani have been dating for a few months now,’” he mocks her voice.

“No.”

He sucks his teeth. “Why not?”

“That’s too blunt!”

“Exactly. What more is there to say? You wanna tell them the whole backstory? ‘Cause I’on really think they need to know that.”

“I’m not saying they do. I just think we need to … soften the approach.”

He puts his car in park before shutting it off, the engine dying down. “I’on know … what approach you talking ‘bout, but when you ready to stop hiding, you lemme know so I could book my appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I wanted to get your name tatted on my forehead.”

“ … Shut up.”

He laughs quietly to himself as he pulls down his sun visor. “You almost ready,” he asks, checking his appearance in the mirror.

It’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “No.”

His smile drops and he kisses his teeth. A second passes as he glares at the phone. Then, he picks it up. “Yo, answer my FaceTime.”

The mode of the call switches, bringing both of them into view on either’s screen. He licks his lips, getting a clear view of her pretty face as her phone is propped up against her vanity.

“Why you only got your makeup done?”

She frowns, setting powder decorating her face. “Because I did my hair first. It’s hair, makeup, then clothes.”

He only releases a sigh, unable to even be really upset.

“Aight, then hurry up. I told you we gonna have to work on that late shit.”

She smiles, reaching for a brush to dust off the powder. “Sorry, baby.”

He hums, eyeing her as he holds his phone closely. “You look good.”

She exchanges her brush for a lip pencil. “Thank you.” She tries not to smile too hard, careful not to mess up as she applies her liner.

“What you wearing?”

She blends out the harsh line of her dark brown liner with a finger. “A dress.”

He waits for her to explain further, but the explanation doesn’t come. “That’s it?”

“Mhm.” She quickly glances at the screen, looking away before she cracks a smile.

“Can I see it?”

“Nope.”

Now she’s smiling, a devious little one, too.

“Yeah, okay,” he scoffs. “You just make sure it’s no crazy ass shit. You know how Big Daddy gets.”

Her head jerks back as she looks at the screen, flabbergasted. “Don’t ever in your life … call yourself that again.”

“You just make sure you know,” he pushes before breaking into a smile, almost laughing. “But nah, forreal. That ass ain’t been getting smaller so … keep it cute.”

She rolls her eyes with pursed lips. “Shut up.”

He scoffs, looking out the window of his car. “Yeah … you think I’m joking.” He scoffs.

“Are you?”

He looks back at her, noting her nonchalance as she applies gloss over her lip combo.

“Play with me if you want to.” He licks his lips. His gaze falls to the exposed middle of her chest as her robe has slipped open. “I’on need niggas eyeing my shit.”

“Okay, Ajani.”

“Nah, it’s not Ajani,” he mocks her voice, earning a glare. “That’s Big Daddy to you—“

“I’m hanging up!”

She reaches forward, snatching up her phone.

“Don’t you wear nothing crazy!”

“Bye!”

The call ends abruptly, leaving him to shake his head. Not too long after pocketing his phone, he leaves the car.

The only thing that’s on his mind being her.

Just before he enters the restaurant, he shoots her one last text.

Jani: lmk when u ready Ima call a uber

His face almost splits in half with how hard he smiles as he daps up his boys.

“Finally, nigga! We expected your ass to be here sooner,” Boku tells him.

“Chill, it was mad traffic,” he laughs.

“Nah, facts. It’s mad people out tonight,” Mykel says.

The three are huddled close in the waiting area of the restaurant. All of the constant shifting to make way for entering and leaving patrons has pushed them to the corner.

“Forreal. Yo, why you pick this place?” Ajani looks to Boku. “I seen this shit blow up on TikTok.”

“Nigga, that’s where I got it from.”

All three dissolve into boisterous laughter, because Boku would be the one to make such a mistake.

Mykel shakes his head. “I’m already knowing the food and service ‘bout to be ass.”

“Nah, facts,” Ajani agrees.

“Aight, now. Not too much,” Boku chimes in. “‘Long as the drinks good, I could give less of a fuck about what they onion rings taste like.”

He and Mykel break off into a mini side conversation of their own, a usual occurrence between all three of them.

As they do so, Ajani pulls out his phone to check his notifications. Even though he doesn’t see one, he constantly refreshes the screen for a possible hidden text message that he just happened to miss.

None.

“‘Jani, you know where the girls at?”

Hesitantly, he looks up at the guys. “Nah,” he shakes his head, face blank. “Why would I know?” He makes a face.

“I’on know,” Mykel looks off to the side. “I thought Diamanté would’a told you something.”

“Why it gotta be Dia?”

“Nigga, don’t act dumb,” Boku butts in. “‘Cause y’all be talking.”

“I talk to Aleya and Sevyn, too.” When he laughs—the loud music masking its awkward tone—his eyes shift between his friends.

“Not like you talk to Dia,” he scoffs. “That’s for damn sure.”

Sucking his teeth, Ajani wear a mask of confusion. “Nigga, shut up. You still on that shit—“

“‘Cause I know your ass still likes her!”

“Yo, I’m not even gonna lie,” Mykel starts. “I’ma have to side with Bo’ on this one. You might as well tell her at this point.”

His face contorts with annoyance.

Nigga, shut up.

“That’s if he not already fucking her,” Boku laughs.

His brows pull together at Boku’s brash statement. “Yo, what?”

Mykel rolls his lips inward, watching the two with caution. He questions, should he step in between this?

“Nah, I’m just saying! You’on gotta be embarrassed—”

“I ain’t embarrassed, nigga. There’s not shit to say, fuck I’ma be embarrassed for?”

Boku laughs, glancing at Mykel for backup. The other man remains quiet.

“Aight, then stand on it! Just say you fuckin’ her—“

Ajani doesn’t even realize that he takes a step forward. “Yo, shut the fuck up talking ‘bout her like that—“

“Alright, chill out now.” Mykel steps between them, placing a hand in front of Ajani to keep him back.

Boku pulls his brows together. “Yo, wassup with you?”

“Ain’t shit up with nothing, you just make sure you keep shit respectful.” The scowl on his lips only deepens.

Boku raises his hands in defense. “My fault, bro. I wasn’t tryna offend—”

“Yeah, that’s ’cause you just open your mouth to say bullshit.” Ajani backs up the more Mykel pushes against him. “Like she not your fuckin’ friend, too, my nigga. What?”

“You good, bro. You good,” Mykel tells him. “Relax.”

“Just fuckin’ talkin’,” he rambles.

Before he can acknowledge the apology, his phone buzzes in his hand. Fully stepping away from them, Ajani checks his messages.

Princxss Dia: I’m ready

He wastes no time to order Diamanté’s Uber ride.

With the distance between them and the Lou music playing overhead, it’s hard for him to hear. He knows Mykel and Boku are talking about him.

He refrains from even thinking much about it, though. Because just talking to Diamanté is putting him in a better mood.

Jani: its coming in 5 min

*screenshot of the Uber order*

Princxss Dia: tyy daddy🤗

Jani: 🙄

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: send me a picture

I wanna c u

Princxss Dia: it’s gonna ruin the surprise

Jani: surprise

🤨

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: stop playing Dia

read

Thankfully, Aleya and Sevyn arrive not too long after. Their presences lighten the atmosphere considerably.

Especially when Sevyn and Boku fall into conversation—a playful argument as usual about some dumb shit.

“Oh my God, I miss Dia’,” Aleya pouts. “Where is she?” She does a full-body turn, looking to Ajani.

Boku keeps quiet this time.

The question garners attention from the others within the group, who are now curious of his answer.

He kisses his teeth. “Why yall not asking her? Damn, what the fuck?”

Sevyn’s face screws up as her neck jerks back. “Nigga, calm the fuck down.”

“Right,” Aleya eyes him as her lips twist into an ugly scowl. “I just thought you’d know since y’all seem to be close.”

Sevyn hums in agreement. “Real close.”

Now, he’s making a face. “What that mea—“

“Hi guys!”

The much softer voice breaks the conversation, catching everyone’s attention.

Walking towards them, Diamanté’s bright smile lights up the dimly lit space.

Her straightened, black hair flows down her back. Being pulled back, it leaves her entire outfit exposed: a simple black Skims dress, flowing to her ankles.

The classy, white Hermes slides on her feet show off her white French toes. A small white crossbody purse ties the dress with the shoes.

Yeah, she’s cute and all—Ajani would never deny her that. But even underneath the restaurant’s dim, multicolored lighting, he can see every detail of her body “hiding” beneath the thin, ribbed fabric.

Down to her fucking belly piercing.

His eyes flick up to look into hers. He’s staring hard.

“Finally!” Aleya screams.

She runs to meet the short woman halfway, throwing her arms around her. Sevyn is right behind her, doing the same.

The women hug each other and their bodies sway like palm trees in the wind. Ajani’s happy for them—Diamanté, at least. It’s been so long since she’s seen them.

However, the happiness is short lived.

Others seem to be enjoying the women’s show happiness, too. Ajani looks over them, catching a small group of guys watching them.

What hint of a smile that was on his face shrinks immediately.

“I missed you guys,” Dia tells them as she pulls back, covering her mouth.

“We need to go out more,” Sevyn says. “‘Cause not seeing each other for this long is fucking ridiculous.”

“I know,” she pouts.

“Girl, you look so fucking good—” A sharp gasp slices through Aleya’s sentence. She reaches out to grab Dia’s arm, pulling her forward to peer down her back. “Girl, your ass!”

Looking too, Sevyn’s mouth drops in shock. “Damn, bitch!”

Diamanté only laughs as she looks between her friends.

“It looks so fucking big,” Aleya says in awe. She looks over at Sevyn. “No, like deadass. Like it looks bigger.”

“How she get more ass and mine getting flatter?” Sevyn jokes.

“Drop the routine!” Aleya reaches behind Diamanté, grabbing a good handful of her ass. She sticks out her tongue.

Diamanté only laughs harder.

“Fuck a routine,” Sevyn declares. “Who you been fucking?” The interrogative expression on her face is intense.

“Oh my God,” she says, hand over her mouth as her smile only grows.

“It’s so heavy,” Aleya says in amazement, using both hands to lift her ass. Squeezing tightly, the dimpled skin can be seen through the fabric. “I can’t even hold it all, what the fuck!”

As the girls continue to laugh, Ajani only continues to watch the leering men.

It takes everything in him not to go towards the women and tell them to stop.

Playfully, Diamanté rolls her eyes. “You guys are chatting.”

“No, girl. Your shit is mad fat, like what the fuck?”

“Okay, okay,” Diamanté says. “Can we sit now?”

Sevyn purses her lips, eyeing her friend. “Mhm. Look at you, you just so tea. Like you come up in here glowing, ass fatter, face card on 10, inches—you just showing out tonight!”

“Facts,” Aleya agrees.

Finally, they return to the other half of the group. Diamanté breaks away from her girls to greet the guys.

“Wassup, Dia,” Mykel gives her a side hug.

“Hey,” she sings.

She pulls away to give Boku the same embrace.

“Hey, Dia.”

“Hi, Boku,” she smiles.

Boku and Ajani make eye contact for a split second. Quickly, Boku looks away just before pulling back.

Ajani doesn’t get the chance to really mug that nigga how he wants to as Diamanté makes her way over to him.

“Hiii,” her voice is much softer.

She’s trying to fight back a smile, he can tell. But, it’s too cute as her teeth slowly come into full display.

The corners of his mouth lift uncontrollably. “Hey.”

Wordlessly, she steps into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. His arms circle around her waist, pulling her body closer.

“Why you ain’t text me when you got here?”

His chest vibrates with each word. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

“I forgot.”

“Would’a came out and got you.”

She pulls away with a laugh, careful to keep their interaction brief enough so that they don’t get their friends started.

“Damn, Ajani. She wasn’t going nowhere.”

Clearly, that didn’t work.

His smile drops as his eyes flit over to Aleya, who wears a smug grin on her lips.

“Aight, now that all y’all niggas is here, I’ma see if we could check in for the table,” Boku announces.

He parts from the group to make his way to the hostess’ booth.

Conversation between the remaining five is quite mellow. Ajani finds himself standing back, only admiring Diamanté as she speaks.

Even when she’s quiet, he’s paying close attention to her body language and the way she reacts to things said.

“Let’s go,” Boku says as he rejoins the group.

“Thank you, God,” Aleya praises.

“Facts, these heels are killing my feet,” Sevyn complains as she starts after Boku.

As everyone else follows, heading towards the table, Ajani stays behind. Before Diamanté can catch up, he grabs ahold of her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Hol’on, ‘cause I didn’t get a proper ‘hello.’”

He pulls her body back in close, missing the feel of her against him. He almost sighs when her soft body presses against his.

Diamanté allows herself to smile as big as she wants to. She angles her head up for a kiss. The gentleman he is, Ajani meets her halfway and presses his lips against hers.

A small peck isn’t enough, as he finds himself going back in for a couple more. And as he does so, he doesn’t resist the urge to reach behind her and cop a feel of her ass himself.

His lips plant mini smooches from her cheek all the way down to her neck. She turns her head to the side, giving him more access.

“You look mad good,” he says into her skin.

His muffled voice tickles her skin, pulling a bubbly giggle out of her. “You told me that already.”

“Aight, and I’m telling you again.” Ajani pulls back just far enough to look her in the eyes.

Damn, he really meant that shit. It’s almost unbelievable how bad she is. Sometimes he wonders how the fuck he was able to bag her.

“But I also told you not to come outside wearing no shit like this—“

She squeals as he lays a harsh smack to her ass, gripping the fat immediately after.

“Ajani!” She whisper-shouts, eyes wide with shock.

He only bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flitting past her to see the group of men from earlier still in the same spots.

Except this time, they’re glaring.

“Told you I ain’t want you showing off my shit like this.”

His other hand cradles her neck, squeezing just enough as he plants another smooch on her lips.

When he pulls back, he sees the inkling of a dazed look in her low eyes. Even from behind those big ass glasses.

“Okay,” she whines softly.

“Mmh.”

She begins to laugh, because she can definitely feel herself slipping into a mood.

“C’mon, before I fuck ya lil’ ass up out here.” His hands fall from her. “Got niggas looking at you all crazy.”

He holds his hand out for her to take. When she does, they make their way over to the table.

However, before they get close enough, they place some distance between themselves.

Conversation at the table is all smiles and laughter over their platters and drinks.

Speaking of drinks, no one at the table is too good to pass up a bit of alcohol. Not even those who drove here.

“See this? This right here?” Sevyn taps an acrylic nail to the glass of her fruity drink. “I’ma need me some more’a that!”

“Mhm,” Aleya hums, sipping on hers through the straw.

Liquor seems to bring the conversation out of the friends. But, Ajani refrains from specifically addressing Boku. And Diamanté finds herself becoming more and more quiet.

Even with her besties around her, she can’t seem to make herself speak. What can she say, when all of her thoughts are filled with Ajani? Definitely not anything that should be said out-loud.

At the very least, on a FaceTime call with just the girls.

Hiding behind her lemon drop, she watches him from across the table with low eyes. Every time he smiles, he does so just enough to give a peek at his grillz.

Fuck, he looks so good. He smells even better. And the way he was choking her up out there, smacking her ass—

No lie, it made her wet. Her clit was thumping for sure. The liquor isn’t helping as it’s bringing up memories.

Like how just a couple of nights ago, she was staying over at his apartment. It was a time.

Two shots of Don was all it took for her to end up on her tummy, getting dicked down.

He fucked her stupid that night. She almost wished she wasn’t on birth control. But that was just the liquor talking.

Her eyes flutter close as her thighs squeeze together. She has to take a deep breath.

“And Dia’s ass is already off the shits!”

A chorus of laughter sounds throughout the table, knocking her from her thoughts. As she looks around her, she offers a shy smile.

“Y’all some damn lightweights,” Sevyn continues to joke.

“I ain’t—look—I ain’t no fuckin’ lightweight,” Boku shouts, holding his glass up.

“Maaan,” Mykel gives him a look. “You better slow down, nigga.”

More laughter sounds. With the spotlight off of her, Diamanté’s thoughts circle back to Ajani.

And speaking of, he takes a sip of his alcohol to hide his smirk. He’s not oblivious, he could feel her staring this whole time.

Of course, it flatters him. If it’s one thing about Diamanté, it’s that she gets freaky off the liquor. And he can tell what’s running through her mind.

Because he’s thinking about the same thing. He’s just got to hold out for the rest of the night.

Leave it up to Boku to plan some weird ass shit. Who the fuck goes bowling after dinner and drinks?

Shit, at least the place serves drinks. And if Ajani was fucking with him right now, he’d commend him for at least picking a good spot.

The alley is surprisingly busy around this time, for it being almost eleven pm. It’s mostly dark in here, just like the damn restaurant.

Why doesn’t Boku ever pick places with good lighting?

“On my soul, I’m washing y’all niggas,” Aleya swears. She shoves a foot into the rented pair of shoes.

Mykel shakes his head, strapping up his pair. “Here she go.”

“Oh shit … I don’t got not socks, y’all.” The usual rasp in Sevyn’s voice is worse due to the drinks.

“Me neither,” Diamanté says, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she fans herself.

Not only is she just a bit horny, but she’s fucking hot. The only downside to drinking. She only hopes she doesn’t sweat her silk press out.

“There’s a booth that sells them,” Boku says.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’ma play. I’ll just watch y’all,” she smiles.

“Ugh! Boringgg,” Aleya groans, throwing her head back.

Sevyn looks to Diamanté. “Okay, well, you could come with me while I buy my socks?”

She nods, prompting her to stand up.

“Can’t wait to wear them shoes. Fuck these heels, bro.” Sevyn holds on to her shoulder for support.

“Aye, if y’all get lost, call one’a us,” Ajani says. “It’s too many people in here tonight.”

“Sure thing, officer!” Sevyn scoffs.

Ajani gives her a scowl, and Dia gives him a short wave before the two of them are off.

“Damn, that’s a long ass line!” Sevyn scowls seeing the bodies fill the area.

“Oh my gosh,” Diamanté frowns.

“I do not wanna be standing on these fucking heels any longer!”

Kissing her teeth, she reluctantly joins the line, Dia in tow. As they wait, both women are scrolling through their phones trying to pass the time.

But it doesn’t take long for them to get to talking.

“If I ask you this question, you gonna be honest?”

Diamanté peers up from her screen to look at Sevyn. Her brows pull together in question. “Yeah?”

Sevyn eyes her for a moment. “You and Ajani fucking? Like—and be honest. Don’t lie to me girl, I hate that shit.”

A sigh leaves Diamanté. Clicking her phone off, she fully looks her friend in the eyes. “Yeah—“

“I knew it! I fucking knew iiit!” Sevyn jumps up and down on her supposedly aching feet. “Fuck! Since when?”

Trying to keep herself from smiling, she stays quiet.

A gasp. “It was after the party, wasn’t it?”

She nods, her smile growing.

They move up in the line.

“Bitch! I fucking—nah, ‘cause I checked your fucking lo’ and your ass was still there after we all left. Uh-uh, y’all so damn nasty.”

“Okay,” she rolls her eyes. “Don’t say anything about it. I’m still trying to … figure out a way to tell the others.” She frowns to herself.

Sevyn makes a face. “Girl, what you mean? Just drop the tea,” she laughs. “Shit, you could do it in the fucking chat. Matter fact, I don’t even think niggas really give a fuck. We all grown, Dia’. And it’s not like we all didn’t see it coming…”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “But, I just wanna tell ‘Leya at least, before I really … break the news.”

“Aight, I feel you.” Sevyn looks her over before breaking out into a dirty smile. “So he the reason your ass been getting fatter.”

“Oh my gosh.” She looks away from her, shaking her head.

“That’s fucking crazy. Who the fuck knew he was putting it down like that?”

Just before she can respond, her phone lights up with a message.

Jani: wya

U got lost ?

“Speak’a the fucking devil,” Sevyn says over her shoulder, spotting the message.

“Hush,” Dia laughs, typingout her response.

“I like how he ain’t even ask about me. So it’s just fuck me, then.”

“What if the ‘y’ means y’all?”

Sevyn rolls her eyes before her face settles. “But, at least he’s crazy about you. That’s all I want for you.”

Diamanté looks up at her friend with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Mhm. I seen y’all at the restaurant.”

Her smile drops and her eyes widen just a bit. “Sevyn.”

“What?”

“If you saw why did you ask?”

She smirks. “I just wanted to see if you would lie.”

The shorter woman groans out.

“Yeah, ya lil’ ass is mad freaky, eewww.” She laughs obnoxiously. “Never thought I’d see you get choked up like that. Or him smacking ya shit—”

“Stop, please!” She hides her face in her hands.

“Oh, I just know he told you not to wear that shit,” she cackles. “You in trouble,” she sings. “That nigga had that crazy look in his eyes. Especially when he seen them niggas staring in the restaurant.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mhm,” she nods with crossed arms. “You just make sure you stay on his good side. Before I become an aunty too soon.”

Diamanté shoves her shoulder. “Don’t wish that on me.”

“Oh, bitch, I’m actually wishing that shit and more. You know I always wanted a little niece or nephew—even if ‘Jani’s annoying ass is the father.” She rolls her eyes.

“I rebuke kids,” she laughs. “Hell no.”

“Yeah, okay. If you say that, you better not tell me that y’all be fucking raw.”

Diamanté doesn’t say anything to that.

When the game commences, Diamanté is the only one to sit it out. And she’s having just as good a time as any.

Mykel had ordered wings for the group—lemon pepper and garlic Parmesan. Drinks, too, of course.

She nibbles on a couple of wings, courtesy of Ajani feeding them to her.

He’s had his fair share of extra drinks. And with each sip, he’s caring less and less about hiding shit from their friends.

Speaking of drinks, Dia’s been washing her food down with sips of water and gulps of fruity, alcoholic drinks. And she really should’ve stopped herself.

Because now she’s got to go to the bathroom.

“Nah, I dead gotta go, too,” Sevyn says.

“I’ma come with y’all.” Aleya gets on her feet.

“Damn, y’all just gonna pause the game like that?” Mykel says, biting into a wing.

“We’ll be back!” Aleya declares.

The women make their way over to the bathrooms, which—unsurprisingly—has a line.

“Fuuuck! All these fucking lines!” Sevyn groans, stomping her foot.

“I know,” Dia says, shifting in her spot as she holds her lower stomach. “I gotta go … so bad,” she huffs.

“I bet you the men’s bathroom not even full like that.”

Sevyn scoffs. “I’m not going to no niggas’ bathroom at a bowling alley. ‘Bouta smell like funky dick and straight piss in there.”

Dia laughs.

“But, shit, since we here…” Sevyn turns to her. “Tell her.”

Aleya looks to Diamanté.

“Oh, um … Ajani and I—“

“I fucking knew it!”

Sevyn throws her head back in laughter.

“Y’all could not hide that shit!” Her eyes are wide as she points back at their lane. “When I seen that nigga feeding you them wings, it was certified!”

“Bitch, you don’t even wanna know what I saw,” Sevyn says, clinging to her.

As she and Diamanté catch her up on everything, they inch closer to the bathroom door.

Diamanté tells them about the most recent date they’d been on together. And while it’s an interesting story, Sevyn can’t help but to feel eyes on them.

She turns her head, to see a group of men looking their way. They make eye contact, as it appears that they’re pushing their friend to make a move.

“Oh fuck no.”

Aleya and Diamanté look at her.

“Y’all, is that them niggas from the restaurant?”

They look over at the men, one of them immediately making eye contact with Dia.

“Please don’t tell me they about to come over here,” Aleya scowls. “Ugh, I hate niggas!”

She says it loud enough for them to hear. And yet, one of them is still making their way over.

Sevyn kisses her teeth. “Bruh.”

The guy making his way over has his eyes dead set on Diamanté. His long locs are pulled back into barrel twists and a mature beard sits on the lower half of his face.

His dangling cross earring makes Sevyn scoff. “This corny ass nigga,” she mumbles.

“Wassup,” he greets, only looking at Diamanté.

Rude, she thinks. Her nose wrinkles as the smell of weed fills the space.

“Hello to you, too,” Aleya sasses.

“My bad,” he laughs. “I just wanted to come talk to you,” he nods over at Dia.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“You fine as shit, I’m not even gonna cap,” he smiles, showing a gold canine tooth. “Not on no creep-shit, but I seen you at The Palacades and,” he shrugs. “Don’t hurt to try, right?”

“Proceeds to be on some creep-shit,” Sevyn says.

“Right,” Aleya agrees.

The two share a laugh, causing the man to glance at them. He doesn’t let that deter him, though.

“You … saw me there?” Diamanté asks, her face creasing with confusion.

“Yeah you and that guy.”

Now it’s Aleya’s turn to make a face.

“Hol’up,” Sevyn laughs, shaking her head.

“Y’know, I just wanted to shoot my shot. Like, you never know. Y’all might not even be serious—“

“Well, they are. And you’re mad weird for asking.” She twists her face up. “What the fuck? Nigga is you cool?”

“Hold on,” he says, turning to Sevyn. “I don’t remember asking about you. So, I don’t know why you tryna get involved.” He’s getting visibly irritated.

“She don’t have to,” Aleya steps in. “If you seen my friend with her nigga, why are you harassing her?”

Worry makes itself evident on Dia’s face. She’s not sure where this conversation is going to go. And she definitely forgot her pepper gel at home.

“‘Cause that corny ass move that nigga tried to do wasn’t shit,” he laughs. “He think smacking ya ass was gonna scare somebody off? I don’t give a fuck about that shit,” he laughs.

“Okay, no—“ Diamanté starts, but Sevyn is too quick to come to her defense.

“Get the fuck outta here, you weirdo ass nigga. She don’t want you!”

“She said that, though?”

“She ain’t say she wanted you neither,” Aleya says.

“Man, y’all bitches kill me.”

“Bitches?” They all say in unison.

“Yeah. It’s always the ugly ones talking the most shit—“

“Nigga you look like a fucking dog in the face yourself!” Aleya gets to pointing.

And as their voices climb, both sides growing more aggressive, Diamanté finds herself paralyzed with fear.

She is not sober enough for this.

Back at the lane, the guys keep themselves busy. Mykel cheats, taking the girl’s turns for them—and throwing horrendous gutter balls.

Meanwhile, Boku and Ajani are seated, munching on the leftover wings. Well, Ajani doesn’t eat as much as Boku, but he’s got a couple of bites in.

Neither of them address the other. And it’s … annoying.

Although Ajani is still upset about what was said, it sucks that this is how their first time hanging out in a minute has to be like this.

But he’s not a pussy. And he’s damn sure not speaking first.

A nudge to his shoulder brings him out of his phone. He looks up, seeing Boku stare at him.

“Yo, I’m sorry ‘bout earlier, bro. I should’ve never said that shit. I just be talking sometimes, you know that. And I be saying the wrong shit.”

“Mmh.”

“And Dia’s my friend. It’s not right’a me to be disrespecting her like that. If you want, shit, I’ll even apologize to her, too.”

Ajani watches him for a moment.

Their silence is broken by a shout from Mykel in the distance, cheering as he scores a strike.

“Nah … you ain’t gotta do that,” he finally says. “I respect the apology. But watch your mouth ‘bout her.”

Boku nods in understanding.

Silence falls over them again as the sounds of the alley machines, the music, people talking, and the arcade games fill the space.

Ajani almost feels himself dissociating again as his tipsy brain thinks. And one thing about him, is that his mouth runs.

Swallowing, he looks away from his friend. “Nah … you was right, though.”

Boku wears a questioning look on his face. “What you mean?”

It takes a second before Ajani finally looks at him. “We fucking with each other.”

He tries to conceal his excitement. But, he just can’t stop himself from dapping him up.

“My nigga—uh, no disrespect, though.”

Ajani shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Y’all better come play before I do your turns!”

“Nigga, fuck the game! Come over here, Jay got something to say!”

Reluctantly placing the ball back onto the rack, Mykel heads over to them.

“What you got to say?” He takes the last garlic Parmesan wing, earning a glare from Boku.

“Guess,” Boku says.

Mykel turns to Ajani, eyeing him. “You and Dia?”

He nods, earning another smile from their standing friend. “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout,” he laughs. “You asked her?”

“Yeah,” Ajani says, keeping it short. But his smile says everything, as he reminisces on that night.

“When y’all got together?” Boku asks.

He kisses his teeth, feeling the liquor in his system. “Uh … at the party.”

Both men stare at him with wide eyes.

“Nigga—that’s almost six months!” Boku shouts.

“It’s no way y’all hid that shit for that long,” Mykel laughs.

“Wasn’t my idea,” Ajani says. “She over here, scared to say shit. But me—I’on give a fuck.” He scoffs. “I’a get her shit tatted, she keep fuckin’ with me,” he shakes his head, toying with the ends of a braid.

Boku and Mykel share a look, and a thought—this nigga is drunk.

Before either of them could voice it, however, Sevyn’s raspy ass voice enters their ears.

“Y’all hear that shit?” Mykel asks, twisting and turning to find the source of the voice.

“Why the fuck she yelling?” Boku asks, looking for her, too.

“How they still not back from the bathroom?”

It’s Ajani that spots her first—in a nigga’s face.

“Yo,” he says, sitting up, more alert than ever.

The guys notice, too. And it doesn’t take long for Ajani to get out of his seat. He’s the first to make it over there. And immediately he’s hit with the smell of weed.

“What’s going on?”

He immediately looks to Diamanté, who has discomfort written all over her face.

“Hell no, come get this nigga,” Aleya shout, pointing at the man.

Ajani watches him back up an inch as he raises his hands in defense. As he stares at the guy, he finds him just a tad bit familiar.

“What’s the issue?”

“It’s no issue, bro—“

“Clearly, it is!” Sevyn cuts in. “‘Cause you was throwing that ‘bitch’ word around a lot—“

“Look, I was just tryna get at your friend,” he says, pointing to Diamanté.

Ajani’s brows furrow as he looks between her and the guy.

“She don’t want you,” Aleya screams.

Then it clicks; This guy was apart of that group that caught themselves staring Diamanté down.

“Go back to your fuckin’ group,” Ajani says. “You a fuckin’ cornball,” he spits.

“Bum ass nigga—and he stink!” Aleya points at him.

“Man, get the fuck outta here, she don’t need no other nigga.”

Ajani steps forward as he speaks, the other man stepping back.

“Aight, my fault—“

“It was. The fuck?” Sevyn says.

Finally, the man walks off, leaving the friends alone once more. The women seem to let out a sigh of release, and Diamanté seems to cling to Ajani’s side.

“That fucking weirdo. Shit just pissed me off I don’t even wanna pee no more.” Sevyn crosses her arms, her anger slow to dissipate.

“No, I’m still gonna use the bathroom,” Aleya scoffs.

“Me too.”

Diamanté’s quiet voice grabs their attentions, especially Ajani’s.

His brows furrow. “Nah, you could use the bathroom home.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“Yeah, fuck all this shit. We going.”

“Ajani—“

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’on give a fuck. That nigga got me fucked up.”

Aleya and Sevyn share a knowing look.

“Tell ‘em niggas we gone,” he says, taking up Diamanté’s hand.

Too tipsy to really object, she tells her friends ‘goodnight,’ promising to text them tomorrow.

Sevyn and Aleya’s farewells are drowned out by their quickly increasing distance and the overall loudness of the alley.

When they finally make it outside, the cool breeze of tonight hits her clammy skin. She squeezes his hand tighter.

“Fuckin’ bum ass nigga—I knew I seen him.”

She peers up at him, his eyes staring off into the distance as he speaks his thoughts.

“Should’a fucked him up, if I’m being honest.”

When they reach his car, Ajani opens the passenger door for her. She climbs inside, relieved to be off her feet.

But before he closes the door, he bends down to look her in the eyes.

“You good?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t touch you or nothing?”

“No, Ajani. I’m good.”

With a nod, he shuts the car door and walks over to his side before sliding behind the wheel.

The drive to his apartment is quiet for the first few minutes. Even his music plays low over the speakers.

She watches his side profile, noting the lowness of his eyes and the way his shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes don’t leave the road, but his brows furrow. “For what?”

She only shrugs, the small action enough to garner his attention for just a second.

“You ain’t do shit. That nigga was just a creep.”

“Yeah,” she exhales.

“Shit, but I definitely shouldn’t be driving right now.” He drags a hand down his face. “Just tryna get in my fuckin’ bed.”

Licking her lips, Diamanté busies her hands by toying with her phone. “Are you really tired?”

He gives her a quick side eye as a lazy smile presents on his face.

“Depends … what you tryna do?”

She looks forward at the nearly empty road ahead of them. Then she shrugs.

“Yeah, I seen the way you was looking at me back at the restaurant... Lil’ freaky ass.”

She laughs just a bit. “It’s been a couple days … what do you expect?”

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat as he leaves one hand on the wheel. “You really sumn else,” he says low, rubbing his chin.

Chewing on her lower lip, she stares at him as a thought brews in her head. Her silence cause him to look her way.

“What you thinkin’ ‘bout over there?”

She releases her bottom lip. Her eyes drop to his lap.

“Can I touch it?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Could do whatever you want … it’s yours.”

With caution, she slowly reaches over the console and spreads her hand over his lap. She traces the barely-hard length through his jeans.

He retains his composure even as he struggles to focus on driving properly.

“You smelled so good today,” she whispers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “So fucking good. She laughs softly, pulling a smile out of him.

The more she rubs up on him, the harder he gets. She licks her lips and reaches over with the other hand to unbutton his jeans and zip them down.

She slips a hand between the layer of his jeans and his boxers, feeling him up through the thin fabric.

“When we was at the restaurant, I was thinking of last weekend, when I stayed over.”

Cradling the underside of his dick, her thumb swipes over his fat tip. Excitement races through her as she feels every curve of the mushroom-shaped head.

A faint twitch makes her smile bigger.

“How you was fucking me.”

Her voice slightly lifts at the end of her sentence, as if the thought alone was enough to get her going.

He found that shit so sexy.

Her thumb continues to rub circles into him. However, she also begins to squeeze him in her palm.

Ajani shifts in his seat, his legs widening on their own.

“Fuck, you were so deep, baby.”

She’s squeezing him harder, her little hand working his tip.

“So fucking deep—“

He barely hears the tiny moan that slips out. It takes his attention off of the road for a couple of seconds.

Just long enough for him to catch her with her other hand now between her own legs, dress hiked up around her waist.

He quickly looks away. The sight sends another rush of blood to his dick, and she can feel it as he pulses in her hand.

As one of her hands feels along his length, the other presses against the seat of her damp panties. The pressure pulls a shiver out of her.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps, quietly. “Fuck, I still have to pee.” Her thighs clamp around her wrist as she remembers her plight.

He glances at her again, trying to fight the melting of his brain as she continues to get him off.

“Keep going.”

His raspy voice catches her off guard.

“W-what?”

He licks his lips and swallows, taking a turn onto a major roadway. “Keep touching yourself.”

“I still have to pe—“

“Hold it.”

Her silence earns another look her way.

“I mean it, too. Just got this shit detailed … so don’t fuck up my seats.”

The gentleness of his voice makes her clench.

His head almost falls back when a tight pressure surrounds his balls. It’s hard to keep his eyes open.

Kicking off her sandal, Diamanté pulls a leg up onto the seat. Her French-tipped toes dig into the shiny, smooth leather as she opens herself up wider.

She rubs herself through her thin panties with a full hand. As she falls into a rhythm, both of her hands sync together as she pleasures both herself and Ajani.

Her legs open up even wider as she changes from using her full hand to just her middle and ring fingers.

Pushed together, she rubs slow, sloppy circles over her clit. The swollen bud pulses, pushing through her thick folds and even creating a small bump through the thin material.

Her wrist aches, but she doesn’t stop. Her pussy clenched repeatedly and her breathing grows unsteady.

Slow, lazy blinks come before her eyes roll back closed. She whimpers to herself.

Ajani tries not to swerve as his brain tries to focus on two things at once. But, he can’t stop his hips from fucking into her hand—even if just a little bit.

Diamanté sends three, solid smacks to her pussy. Upon the third one, her thigh snap shut and her eyes squeeze closed. Her mouth hangs open as her body freezes.

Before she can stop it, her body lets loose for a split second. Just a tiny stream lets out, creating a small soak-spot into her underwear. Immediately, she regains control, stopping her release.

The pace she’d been able to keep up falters as she grows weak from her own hand.

“Keep going,” he tells her.

She shakes her head first. “I … I can’t.”

“Dia—“

“I can’t, I can’t—“

“Move ya hand.”

He pries her thighs open with his free hand, and snatches hers from between them.

He replaces her with his touch, cupping the fat mound before sliding his fingers against her. He feels the small wet spot, and it makes his dick harder.

“Told you to hold it.” He lays a smack down on her clit, and her legs try to close around his arm.

A louder moan leaves her this time. But, she holds it as best as she can.

“And keep squeezing my shit,” he says, his voice deep and heavy with lust.

Mewling, she gives her focus to his dick. Rubbing and squeezing it. And when that’s no longer enough, she pulls him out of his boxers.

“Shit…” he exhales in relief.

The hot, length stands stiff in both of her hands. Dribbles of precum run down his length. She’s quick to swipe it up as she twists both hands over him, pulling at the veiny skin.

“Mmh … fuck, baby. J-just like that.”

Ajani doesn’t let that distract him, however. Hand between her legs, he rubs his middle finger over her protruding clit.

She almost cries out as he neglects to touch her, keeping her underwear between them.

His pointer finger drops down to join the middle. And he pinches her bud. She yelps out.

“Hold it,” he says, pinching harder. “Hold it.”

Her head falls back as she cries out. The dam is about the break, she can feel it.

Her body goes numb for half a second, and then she feel the wet spot spread just a tiny bit bigger.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming—“

He cups her once more, feeling her clench down on nothing in his hand. The pink G-string clings to her lips, conforming to their shape.

Her hands freeze around his dick, unable to focus on him as she tries to keep herself from finishing completely over his seats.

“We almost there … almost there,” he soothes, turning into his building’s parking lot.

After regaining her composure, Dia tucks him back in his pants and zips him back up.

Ajani removes his hand as he parks in his designated spot, giving her the chance to fix herself.

When they get out the car, it’s a bit of relief. However, Ajani still has to make it to his apartment without being caught with this boner.

Watching Dia walk ahead of him to get into the main building, he gets an idea.

It’s hard to concentrate as they stand there waiting for the elevator. There’s no one in the lobby, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.

Standing, her backside pressed to his front, she feels his dick poking at her.

Ajani’s so hard, it almost aches. He kisses his teeth, and his hand on her hip squeezes harder.

“Where this fuckin’ elevator at? Not tryna be waiting here all night.”

As he talks, his hips move just a bit, pushing his dick harder into the fat of her ass. It’s not helping, honestly.

But, much to her relief, the elevator finally arrives with a sharp ding. They walk in and Ajani is quick to press the button to the eleventh floor.

It seems like time slows as the shaft achingly climbs the floors. Dia doesn’t get to watch the numbers change as a hand comes around her neck and squeezes—her eyes flutter shut.

“Can’t wait to ruin yo shit,” he whispers in her ear. “Have you bouncing on my dick.”

She moans softly as his hand tightens.

He sucks his teeth. “Matter fact—“

It must be the liquor that has him doing this, and what’s got her letting it happen.

In one second, she’s bent over, her hands bracing the wall before her as he stands behind.

“Should just fuck ya lil’ ass in here.”

He smacks her left cheek before rutting into her. He spreads her ass with both hands, rubbing his clothed dick into her core.

“O-oh fuck,” she whimpers. The friction has her legs trembling.

“Keep fuckin’ moaning,” he pants, fucking against her. His eyes almost roll back and his balls tighten in his pants.

“Baby—“

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she tries to keep quiet … and from cumming.

Backing up just an inch, he instead holds her by her waist and bounces her hard against him. She almost wails, her pussy craving to be filled.

But her torture ends soon as the elevator dings again, announcing their arrival to the eleventh floor. They waste no time getting out and making their way to his front door.

When they come to it, he hands her his keys as he remains behind her. She almost fumbles them, her hands shaking.

He grabs onto her hips again, gripping tightly.

“Hurry up … you’on feel that?”

The gravel of his voice makes her shiver, and the way his dick is pressed into her ass almost makes her eyes roll back.

His face drops into the crook of her neck and shoulder to press a kiss into her warm skin.

“He missed you, baby.”

The slight slur in his voice drives her crazy. But, not more than the way he presses his hips harder against her.

Click, the door goes as she finally unlocks it. The rush of air that hits them as she pushes it open is refreshing. It clears her senses for just half-a-second before her brain is plunged back into a hot pool of lust.

Ajani’s got his hands on her, spinning her around to press a wet kiss onto her lips. A heavy moan slips out of her as he squeezes her throat.

He sucks on her tongue like it’s his only lifeline, enjoying the taste of her spit too much.

His free hand encircles her waist and heads down to grip as much fat as it could.

The burn of his grip has her clenching in her panties. He pulls out of the kiss just to look her in the eyes.

“Take this stupid ass dress off before I rip it.”

His grip on her throat tightens and she feels herself go dumb a little bit. She nods.

He lets go of her completely, just to watch her pull the black dress over her head.

All she’s got on is that tiny ass, pink G-string, no bra. The fabric is drenched with a wet stain as it clings to her. And her lips are damn near spilling out of it.

“Not even gonna be able to walk when I done with you,” he mumbles, staring at her as he squeezes his dick through his pants.

“Wait, I wanna do something else first.”

Diamanté’s gaze drops to the hard outline of his dick—so thick and long.

“Yeah?” He looks at her with low eyes, paying keen attention to the outline of her fat pussy. “What you tryna do?”

She starts towards him, walking slow.

“I wanna suck it.”

His brows lift as an inkling of a smile is on his lips. “Oh, word?”

“Yeah.”

She stops right before him. A gentle push to his chest sends a big enough of message—he falls back onto his couch. And his eyes follow her as she gets down on her knees before him.

She crawls to him, sitting between his legs. Even pushes them apart wider. He almost shivers at her delicate touch on his knees.

“Would you let me?”

She blinks up at him as her hands snake their way up his thighs and into his lap. He slips further down into the couch, biting his lip as he watches her undo his pants for the second time tonight.

She gets a peek of those grills again, and she just finds them so sexy.

“Awe shit, baby, you could do whatever you want…”

His aid comes as he lifts his hips as she drags the heavy denim down his legs. Drunken giggles pour out from her lips as she eyes his print through his boxers.

Even through the thin fabric, the familiar heat of her palm makes his dick twitch. He has to stop himself from humping into her hand as she grips along his length.

Her laughter melts away as she watches his face with a luring smile.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

He almost doesn’t even hear her soft voice. But when he does, he looks down and notices the dark spot on his boxers.

“Shit … that’s all you,” he mumbles. His eyes bore into her as she pulls him out of his underwear.

He’s stiff and heavy in her hand. Her smaller fingers squeeze him just a bit tighter, a weak attempt at trying to get a better grip on him.

It amuses him, seeing how the tips of her fingers don’t even meet when they’re around him.

The warmth blossoming under his skin goads her to run a fist over his length.

“You know how to do it?” he asks her.

She nods before looking back up at him. Looking into his eyes, she can tell that he’s fighting to stay present.

But with the liquor in both their systems, and lust running through their bodies, she can understand how difficult that must be for him.

“You don’t gotta … take it all,” he swallows.

His thigh twitches; Her tongue laves against the underside of the warm, soft tip. She holds him as she circles her tongue around the head, shining it with her spit.

“Fuck,” he hisses softly, body melting into the couch cushions.

She brushes her tongue against him, picking up a perfect bead of precum just as it dribbles out.

He inhales, shifting in the seat. “Spit on my shit.”

Puckering her lips, she spits it back out on his tip and spreads it across his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Holding him at the base, she takes his head back into her mouth. His stomach swoops and his breath stutters.

Diamanté almost giggles, feeling his tip pulse in her mouth. She pulls off of him with a pop.

She repeats the action a couple of more times, going pop … pop … pop! She enjoys too much how he groans above her.

“Stop playing, baby, c’mon.”

The sound of him begging makes her clit pulse.

“Okay, okay,” she says softly, batting her lashes up at him.

Taking a deep inhale, she places her mouth back over the head. Slackening her jaw, she slowly descends his length.

“Awe … shiii,” he stares down at her in shock.

Already, her jaw aches, having to accommodate his size. She gets about halfway.

“Mmmh.”

The vibration of her hums make his toes curl. He jumps with a hiss. The movement gags her, and the sound only arouses him.

“T-take your time, baby—“ he grunts. “You don’t gotta—“

He chokes on his own words as he watches her continue to swallow him with a bit of effort. The sight has him clutching the couch cushions.

Her throat constricts around his dick as she bottoms out. She nuzzles her nose against the small bush of dark curls at his base.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, shifting his hips a bit.

Her eyes flutter close as she relishes the heavy weight her throat holds. His dick twitches, pulling a soft gag out of her.

He loves the sound.

Spit seeps from her mouth, dripping down his length. Trying to swallow around him is difficult.

Carefully, she lays her head against his open lap. She exhales through her nose, trying to relax as she suckles on him.

It’s almost addicting, having his dick stuff her mouth to the brim. She’s content … until she remembers her own arousal.

Her knees burn, but nevermind that. She brings a hand between her thick thighs, whimpering as she caresses herself.

The pads of her fingers slide back and forth over the soaked scrap of fabric covering her pussy.

Her thighs clench around her wrist. But still, she continues, sliding the tips of her acrylic nails against her aching pearl.

He watches her eyes open for just a second, only to showcase how they roll back. Her shoulders twitch.

“You touchin’ yourself?”

She barely nods as another twitch rakes throughout her body.

The already wet patch of her panties grows warmer as she leaks more arousal. Her fingers rub harder and her pussy spasms.

“Mmh—“

She whines around his dick, and his hips stutter.

“So fuckin’ nasty,” he groans. “Like my dick in your mouth.”

Another whimper.

Peeling a hand from the armrest of the couch, Ajani reaches for her straightened hair and gathers it in a tight ponytail.

“Relax your throat,” is his only warning.

Long, slow strokes have her gagging on him. The back or her throat makes wet clicks as his dick fucks the back of her throat.

Tears bubble in Diamanté’s eyes as her head bobs. Shaky fingers push her soaked panties to the side as she rubs through her sticky, creamy folds.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he says through gritted teeth.

She plays in her mess, webs of cream sticking to the pads of her fingers and her pink clit.

His hold around her hair tightens and his pace quickens. Her gags become harsher and louder as he face-fucks her.

A squeal sounds at the back of her throat as she DJs herself quickly. Her chest stutters as it gets harder to breathe with her choking on him.

Her body tightens then releases; She sprays against her fingers and the hardwood floor. The hard stream catches his ears, making him sit up to watch.

The whites of her eyes are the only things that show as she cups herself between her legs.

A gooey mess of her spit and his precum drip down his balls and even her face, droplets falling on her bare chest.

“Shit, baby … awe shit,” he groans, head thrown back and mouth dropped open.

His stomach clenches as his brows pull together.

“I’m bout’a … c-cum—fuck.”

He pushes her head all the way down, holding her there as he fucks up into her. She tightens her throat around him, sending him over the edge.

Ropes of cum shoot down her throat, sending her pulling off of him in a coughing fit.

When she calms, she pulls her hand from between her shaking thighs. It’s messy with the remnants of her cream and squirt.

She wraps it around him and spits his cum back on his dick.

It’s a bubbly, frothy mess. She jerks him off, milking him for the rest of his release as she mixes their cum and her spit together.

“So fuckin’ dirty,” he rasps, his body sagging against the chair.

The squelches of her fist over his dick is music to their ears. Her hand glides with ease as she squeezes him tighter.

“Beatin’ my shit so good.”

Breathy laughter pours out of her as she sticks out her tongue and flattens it. Staring into his low eyes, she taps his dick against the bed of her tongue.

She slides the pink muscle against him before flicking it twice against his leaky slit. He shivers beneath her, and she feeds off the reaction.

Taking his head back into her mouth, she sucks on it with her lips as she digs out his slit with her tongue.

He’s a whining mess as she overstimulates him.

“Fuck baby … fuuuck baby—fuck babyy—“

Ajani’s head falls back against the cushions and his eyes roll back. He opens his mouth to cry out:

“F-fuuuuuck—“

Lifting from him quickly, she taps him against her tongue as he erupts. His cum paints the pink muscle in white ropes.

“So good,” she hums, still tugging at him.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath and calm his beating heart. His ears ring and his vision’s got dots.

It takes him too long to return back to earth, as if she had hard reset him.

But, that’s not where their night ends—far from it, actually.

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sihtsisdrowkcab · 9 months ago

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DP x DC prompt - Villainess AU

Hey! So I found this promt and just had to write something with it!

https://www.tumblr.com/kuroishuuha/714717053010984960/dp-x-dc-prompt-villainess-au?source=share

Prompt

-Danny is transported into a novel/game where he is the villainess fiancé of the male lead.

Knowing that only death awaits him at the end, Danny tries to end the engagement (who knows if death will stick this time - Danny is not gonna risk finding out)

Meanwhile, Jason finds himself as the male lead of a novel/game he never read/played

The system in his head is telling him that the only way to get back home is to have a happy ending with his fiancé

So we have Danny who is desperately trying to end his engagement and a Jason who is trying to woo his fiancé (and cursing the original male lead - because the guy must have done something horrible for his cute and nice fiancé to be desperate to break up with him)-

Story

Danny was so over this. He thought this would have been easy, maybe not on his parents part god knows they don't give up without a fight, but his fiance has shown nothing but disdain for him his whole life (even if he wasn't here for 90% of that life) He thought he'd only have to tell his fiance that he didn't want to marry him, his fiance would be ecstatic and run into the sun with Ophelia and he'd get the weight off his shoulders and wouldn't have to worry about dying anymore and yet...

"No."

Danny just looked at him with horror "What do you mean no?" He practically yelled.

"No, I won't break off the engagement."

"Why not!? You hate me! You've hated me since the moment we met! I know you want to be with ophelia!"

Jason looked like he was trying to read his face which makes no sense, if anyone should be trying to read the other's face it should be him!

Danny grabbed Jason's shoulders and shook them, he knew he wasn't acting like a proper gentleman, but his life was on the line! "Have you lost your goddamn mind? What in the world is wrong with you?" He paused, took a breath and let go of the teshis shoulders. He was sure this had something or the other to do with politics, he just couldn't wrap his mind around it at all. He took another step back, he had to appease Jason somehow. "Look, neither of us wanted to get married and neither of us really knew what we were getting into when our parents signed the agreement and had us agree to this, my parents won't back down but from what I know of your parents they'll let you back out of this no problem. My parents will be pissed but that's neither here nor there. There is really no reasonable excuse for why we shouldn’t break off our engagement." Danny said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. There was no way Jason could deny all of that.

How could Jason deny all of that?! He was acting completely out of character, which was funny because he hardly knew what his character was like at all besides from second hand accounts. When he was told he just had to get a happy ending with his fiance he had thought this would be a piece of cake, he had brushed everything else off and took this as a really weird miny vacation, how hard could it really be to marry your fiance? Everything was already set up, it couldn't fail.

Except for the fact that apparently he was a dick and hated his fiance and she was done with all that, which he would have cheered on the fiance any day, get rid of that dick 100%. But now he was here in that dick's place and having to deal with his stupid problems and his fiance wanted to divorce him! How was he ever going to get a happy ending out of this? He did eventually want to get home no matter how annoying Bruce could be at times.

His fiance huffed drawing his eyes to him, he really was very pretty, he had no idea why Damian seemingly hated him. Sure he was being annoying as hell right now but really that was all Damian's fault.

"look i don't know why you seem to be fighting for this, it seriously seems like you just forgot everything!"

Jason froze, should he go with that? It really would be rather convincing seeing as he really didn't know Damian at all.

Danial paused, his eyes widening as he fixed on Jason's hesitance, seemingly picking apart all that he was and assessing him not adequate.

"You really don't act like Damian at all..."

He froze again, was that a good thing? Was this gonna be what gave him away?

"Did you hit your head or something? Temporary amnesia?"

"Y-yes!" Was he messing this up, would Danial believe that?

"Then why are you fighting so hard to keep the engagement? You don't know me at all."

Shit. shit what did he say? How did he convince Danial to keep the engagement if his other self hated him and this self didn't know him?

"I-I heard how wonderful you were from my parents and- and fell in love!"

Danial backed up with a distured look on his face, fuck he shouldn't have said that. "Love? After just hearing about me? That’s… kind of creepy."

“I just want to get to know you!”

Danial looked at him, his shoulders slumped and he looked resigned as he said "fine we'll keep up the engagement for now.” yes! “But when you get your memories back, we're breaking it off.”

Not great, but at least he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

He turned around to leave, oh wait. "I haven't told anyone else I've lost my memories so could you keep that one to yourself?" He asked, turning back around.

Danial looked at him suspiciously. "Why haven't you told anyone else? Not even your family?"

Fuck again! Why couldn't he just get this right? "Of course my family knows!" He really hoped Danial never met them because they absolutely did not. "but no one at this school does, i don't want them to treat me like i'm made of glass like my parents." Not completely off base, they've been tiptoeing around him all summer, probably because he was acting so weird.

"that makes sense." Danial sighed, he looked suddenly like the whole weight of the world was upon his shoulders.

Jason screwed up his face, he had definitely been the one to place it there. He wanted to go over to him and tell him that they could break off the engagement after all but he really couldn't do that. "I'm sorry." He settled for instead.

Danial looked surprised. "You’re apologizing?"

"Yeah, I've made this so much harder for you than it really had to be. And you don't really know me anymore and I really don't know you."

Danial looked at him with something akin to empathy. "It's hard being thrust into a world that's unfamiliar to you isn't it? No one you trust or know around you and having to be something your not."

Jason looked at him in genuine shock. "H-how?"

Danial looked panicked for a second before he gave a light laugh. "I may not have amnesia but I do have expectations from everyone around me." He rubbed his arm. "Everyone says you're way out of my league and that I'm lucky to have you." This time his laugh was bitter.

"If anything you said about the old me was true it was really the opposite."

Danial gave a snort that Jason couldn't help feeling was the prettiest thing he's ever heard. "oh believe me i down played it."

Jason looked at him aghast. "Downplayed it!? Just how bad was I??"

Daniel gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and a smirk, "Now that, my friend is a talk for another time. Danial moved past him brushing his shoulder, what felt like a shock passed through him and he went stiff. When he finally came to his senses he was all by himself, What had just happened?

#danny phantom #danny #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp #dead on main #dp x dc crossover #dc comics #jason todd #dc #jason x danny #dead on main ship #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp

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buryhny · 29 days ago

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One Night Stand ; 42

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ Chapter forty two ; wc | 8.3k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Jungkook spent the rest of his night with you, secretly. you insisted he comes up to your bedroom since it's the last night you both have here in your home country, the flight is early the next day so you will be leaving your parent's place by midnight.

"y/n you're gonna get us in trouble-" "no I'm not, I just want you to look around..." "we can do this in the morning too." you rolled your eyes while you tiptoe back to your room as he holds your hand tightly, making sure you do not fall over in the dark.

"not when my parents are gonna keep their eyes glued on the both of us the whole damn day." You gently close the door behind you, making sure to lock it. Turning around, you face the man standing there with his hands on his hips, and you wrap him in the biggest hug you can manage ...though your pregnant belly gets in the way, making it impossible to give him the full, squishiest hug you're aiming for.

"I've missed you so much." Jungkook can't stop beaming his signature bunny smile. To him, this is the cutest you've ever been, and he's at a loss for words—or actions—that could convey just how head over heels he is for this version of you.

"I've missed you much more darling.." he murmurs into your hair as he places a kiss. You pull away from him and look up to see his face, his hair covers his forehead and his eyes curiously search your face as they smile before his lips do.

Jungkook watches you, he notices how you look at him with so much love and adoration and he wants to tell you so much, not just three words but so much more, he can't find them though.

The words, because it's not much, he doesn't think he can just say it, it's not worth it, he wants to show you to make you feel them and he just can't wait to go back home and embrace you in himself. "let me show you around."

you whisper and change the atmosphere because you know and feel it too and here is not the place, god it's not. This isn't your home now, your home is where you and Jungkook belong together, sleep together share memories and make love together and it is waiting back in Korea for you both.

"I've spent my whole life here; you can see the very old posters of The Beatles and Ariana Grande." You both glance at the walls, where the faded, curling edges of the posters tell stories of years gone by. Jungkook chuckles softly, his eyes lingering on a particularly worn Beatles poster. "This one looks like it's been through a lot,"

he says, pointing at a corner held together by yellowing tape. "Well, it survived my teenage angst and an unfortunate attempt at redecorating," you reply with a laugh. He smiles warmly, his gaze shifting to you.

"You had an awful taste in decorating, my love," Jungkook teases as he turns around and walks over to inspect the other posters plastered on your wall. You frown, trailing after him.

"Really? You get to tell me that?" "Why not? Just look at this selection," he says, smirking as he points to one of the posters. "You've managed to pick the top 10 most random and iconic pictures ever—like, what even is this lineup?"

You cross your arms, glaring playfully. "Excuse me, but this 'random lineup' was carefully curated during my teenage years. Don't disrespect the effort!" He laughs his bunny smile in full force and taps on the corner of a faded Ariana Grande poster.

"Yeah, because clearly, this is peak interior design, genius." you roll your eyes and punch his shoulder which he giggles over, he loves teasing you over the stupidest matters, it's how you two even bonded. How this whole everything started- teasing.

Whether it was the night you both met each other at the club, how you took the first step teasing him about how he stares at you and how you both teased each other the whole past 8 months whilst being together as boss and secretary to now... to-be- parents and maybe more?

There's not much around your old bedroom, after all, it has been more than 3 years since you've been here and nothing has changed, except how lonely and unlively it is now unlike before, how you would keep it colorful with fancy lights and books decorating your table and how your bed would be made with plushies and cute bedsheets, now its all just dull and mature.

maybe you don't like this much because you're used to the shades of rich colors back at Jungkook's place, how bright yet soothing the colors feel unlike your old bedroom which has far too many colors. Your tastes have changed now, you've become a new person, a better person and you like it, you like yourself more now.

"I want to go back home." you murmur as you lay on Jungkook's chest, his fingertips caressing your locks as he leans against your bedhead. "this is home too. Your home, your first home." he reminds you, he wants to tell you to recall the memories and moments, although the definition of home has changed for you now, this place and the people here are still your first.

He doesn't want you to forget that no matter how much it changes for you. "I know... I know and I- I love this place too, it's dear to me. But..." your voice trails as you play with the thread of your sweater, a pout decorating your lips.

You know this is not what he means yet Jungkook's words feel like you don't care or feel much for this place and it makes you sad and angry even that his words feel like it's putting you down.

You just miss your place, the place you've gotten so comfortable the past few months, a place you never want to leave. Even though that place has no people except for Jungkook that you feel dear to, it means much much more than a place with people you know.

You've formed that connection with the walls of the house that you don't need people, you don't need anyone, all you want is Jungkook and Bam and it's enough, it's the world for you.

It's funny because you grew up with people around you, your parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, cousins, many pets and friends. Coming to Korea was a massive change to your life when you had no one to call your own but after the whole chaos you finally found peace, love and people in one person and even though he was with you here, right next to you, he doesn't feel home yet and you know its because of the rules your parents made.

"but..?" he asks gently. "but I miss it." he chuckles this time, your head shakes at the rumbling of the laughter from his stomach. "just one more day and we'll be back there, bear. Don't worry, I'm not leaving you here or anywhere. You're coming with me, home. our home."

"Promise?" he smiles, and this time he looks down at you, while your head shifts to look up at him. "I will never go back without you, you're in this with me, forever. Understand?" he presses his fingers together on either side of your cheek, making your pout even bigger as you both erupt in laughter.

"it's too late y/n, I think I should get back to the room-" "Stay until I sleep, please... I can't fall asleep," you mumble as you gaze at him for sometime, trying to tell him that it's difficult to sleep up here, alone.

He smiles, nodding his head he decides to stay just an hour longer until your eyes close. His fingers run through your hair, his breathing soothes you in the silent night.

You realize just how close you are to Jungkook—something you haven't felt in years, not even with the man you loved for so long and had plans with. Jungkook looks up at the ceiling, thinking about how calm he is around you and how much he loves you. he can't wait to go back home too, to have you all by himself.

He places a kiss on the temple of your forehead, and attempts to leave your room but your hold on his t-shirt is too tight that he does not have the heart to pull you away, so he decides to stay the night even though he is unsure and afraid even of what your parents might feel about this.

The morning comes by, and the chirping of the birds and the sun's rays wake you up. You blink a few times before heaving a deep sigh, as you turn to your side you notice the bed is empty and there's no sign of Jungkook. You think he must've left early in fear of what your parents might say. "morning baby!"

you caress your belly as you attempt to get out of bed slowly, now that your bump is getting big. After freshening up, you head downstairs, stopping in your tracks when you hear laughter—coming from not one direction but three. You peek into the living room and freeze.

Jungkook is sitting there, laughing with your parents like they've been best friends for years. "Oh, Y/N, honey! Come here," your mom calls out, way too cheerful. You frown, feeling completely out of the loop, and reluctantly sit down beside Jungkook. He turns to you with those smiley eyes, his grin wide enough to make your heart do a little flip.

"You didn't tell me you won the prom dance and got crowned prom queen?" he teases, his voice all playful. Your jaw drops as you look between your parents, trying to piece together what's happening. "Uh... what?" you ask nervously, your voice almost cracking.

The sudden question catches you completely off guard, and for a good reason—you'd practically erased that memory from your mind. It was, after all, one of the cringiest moments of your life, one you'd been trying to delete ever since. "go on, tell him." Your mom leans forward, clearly ready to nudge you further into the conversation, but your curiosity gets the better of you first.

You glance between the three of them, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, hold on," you say, crossing your arms. "Can someone explain how you three became best friends overnight? Because this was not the vibe yesterday." the three of them erupt in laughter, confusing you even more.

"Oh, hun, should we tell them?" your mom asks your dad, her eyes glinting with mischief. Your dad chuckles, giving her a nod. "Your mom and I caught you two in the kitchen last night." At that, Jungkook choked on the water he was drinking, his coughs escalating into a fit. Meanwhile, your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

"You... what?" Your mom waves a hand, trying to stifle her laughter. "Oh, don't act so surprised! We saw you two, all close and cozy by the fridge. You thought we didn't hear the giggles?" Jungkook finally catches his breath, his face flushed, whether from coughing or sheer embarrassment, you can't tell.

"I... uh... wow, okay," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You gape at them, mortified. "Seriously? You were spying on us?" Your dad raises a brow, clearly amused. "Spying? You were right there! If you're gonna sneak snacks in the middle of the night, at least keep it down." Both Jungkook and you have never been so embarrassed before, his eyes turn red, and so do your cheeks.

"It's okay now," your mom says, her tone far too reassuring for your liking. "Your dad and I experienced this too back in our day. It's not too—" "Stop. Right there." You hold up a hand, your face burning with secondhand embarrassment.

"Please don't finish that sentence." Jungkook shifts awkwardly beside you, looking like he's debating whether to laugh or flee the scene entirely. "Yeah, uh... let's not compare notes here," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. But your mom just smiles knowingly, leaning back in her chair.

"Oh, sweetie, you'll understand someday." You groan, sinking lower in your seat as Jungkook glances at you, his lips twitching like he's fighting back a grin. "At least they didn't hear all the nonsense we spoke about..." "Oh god, we did. do not have to whisper now, we heard all of that." "okayyyyy I'm leaving-"

"Y/n, sit back down and have breakfast." "you need to stop embarrassing us!!" "fine, I'll stop." your mother puts her hands up, giving up as you all laugh it off. "now tell me the whole prom stuff. " "mom I can't believe you told him that!" "I had to!!" ......

Your parents realized a little late how deeply the two of you loved each other. Your father quickly came around, accepting your feelings almost immediately. Your mother, however, was more hesitant. She wasn't happy with your choice, as he didn't fit her expectations, especially with his tattoos and appearance.

But as she watched the way you both missed and cared for each other, she began to see how genuine your love was. all night she barely got any sleep, recalling how unfair she was towards you both, she understood she'd been wrong to withhold her support, especially after watching you two in the kitchen and how close you two were.

She never really had anything against Jungkook, and now she knows she never will. It's so obvious how much he cares about you—she can see it in his eyes now. The first time she met him, she didn't even give him a proper look, brushing him off completely. But now, as she takes a moment to notice him, it hits her.

There's this little ache in her chest because she knows she was unfair, cold, and unwelcoming to someone who's done nothing but love, support, and take care of you—all on his own. it took her some time to get over her thoughts and talk to him, she's glad you woke up later. you didn't have to see the awkward conversation between your mother and Jungkook.

putting her ego aside was difficult but not too much because she looked in the eye of the boy who loves her daughter and who she loves too. Jungkook could see her hesitation but he calmly paid attention to her and with your father around, it took no time for the three of them to gel up.

the four of you sit together in the living room, laughter fills every corner as he flips the next page of your baby album. "y/n! you're adorable. I've never seen a prettier child than you." Jungkook hums softly as he settles beside you, pulling the photobook closer to his face to admire you better.

His gaze lingers, studying your features closely. Your lips were always so plump, and your eyes so big and round—he can't help but wish they hadn't changed much as you grew older. But then, there's your hazel eyes now, deep and alluring, like a siren's call. It's those eyes that make him fall for you even harder every time he looks at you.

"she was the prettiest child. no one in either of our families has seen a child more beautiful than her." "Mom now..." you roll your eyes as you blush at the compliments you receive. it's too much to handle and it's brushing on your already large ego. "Our Y/N is a princess. We just needed a king for her," your dad says, draping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer with a proud smile.

Meanwhile, your mother, sitting beside Jungkook, nudges his shoulder with hers, raising her eyebrows playfully. Jungkook tries to smile, but the lump in his throat is hard to ignore. Your dad's comment echoes in his mind, and though it was meant as a compliment, it only makes him doubt himself more.

A king? He thinks you deserve so much better—someone greater than him—and he can't help but feel a little low, wondering if your parents might secretly feel the same way about him. "He is one, Dad. He keeps me like a queen," you say proudly, placing your hand on Jungkook's thigh and looking up at him with a warm smile.

Jungkook glances at you, chuckling softly. "We're not playing kingdom here," he teases. "All I want is a partner, and she's... she's just the perfect woman I could ever hope to find. Though, I do agree—she deserves a king, someone way bet-..."

You roll your eyes, cutting him off with a playful smile. "You need to stop! I don't need a king. Even though you... are one—with your mansion and all that— you're just a simple man. And that's exactly what I love and want."

The two of you get so caught up in your words, exchanging soft smiles and heartfelt glances, that you don't even notice your parents watching you. They exchange a look of pride and joy, their hearts full. Seeing the love and understanding between you both reassures them that you made no mistake—in fact, you've done everything right by choosing this man.

"alright alright now... you both need to get a room." your dad jokes and you immediately cringe at her words. "ew dad!!" "What?!! you two were lost in your world, I had to say something. anyways I've got a great plan." he gets up from the couch and claps his hands. "why don't you both, go around the city.. show him your school,

and the parks and just spend the rest of your day out... Jungkook has barely seen around the neighborhood." you look over at him and see him raising his eyebrows at you. "should we..." you whisper and he shrugs.

"It's a good idea, I haven't made out with you in so long-..." "shhh y/n-" "okay dad!!" you pull Jungkook's arm so he can get up from the couch, he looks over at your mom and sniggers. "is she always this excited?" "Trust me she is, only if she loves the person."

"You need to be careful, baby," he says as he puts on a coat for you, evenings can get cold so he can't take the risk of you falling sick. You're dressed in a summer dress, that fits your bump perfectly. It's a pretty baby pink and lavender and a hint of cream.

;

"I am! I'm just so excited," you exclaim as you grab a couple of snacks to put them inside your bag. "Sit down, I'll tie your lace." You sink onto the couch as Jungkook gets down on his knees to carefully tie your shoelace. With your growing belly in the way, bending down has become nearly impossible, and you can't even see your shoes anymore.

"All done!" he says, giving a gentle tap on your thigh as he stands back up. "Y/N, honey, son... take care, okay? Call us if you both need anything," your dad says warmly, and you both nod in response. You step out into the front yard, pausing at the doorstep while Jungkook walks to your dad's car. He opens the door for you, carefully guiding you inside.

As he climbs into the driver's seat, you give a wave to your parents before driving off. You guide him through the neighborhood, showing him the area and telling him how different it was during your childhood, and how you made friends around and were so close to them as you grew up. He listened to you ranting about high school drama and the dork you were.

You didn't tell him about the other details, because you wanna save them for later when you show him the place. "Isn't this nice?! I never thought I would be driving around the town, pregnant! never imagined this day would come so so soon..."

You let out a soft sigh, gazing at the early signs of fall while taking in the familiar sights of your hometown. Jungkook occasionally glances at you as he drives, his pace careful and unhurried. When you finally speak, it stirs a question in his mind: are you truly happy about this?

On the surface, you seem cheerful, your usual excitement shining through. But deep down, could there be a shadow of sadness or guilt you're keeping from him? He doesn't want to press you, yet his curiosity lingers.

"Oh! Let's walk around here," you suddenly say, pointing toward a garden. "You can park over there." Without hesitation, Jungkook steers into the spot you indicated. You both walk around the concrete, and you look down, biting back a smile as you feel giddy about this place.

The man beside you frowns as he looks around in an attempt to find something that amusing you so much. "anything or anybody around? Making you smile so much?" he asks as he gets closer to you. You roll your eyes and silently gesture toward a bench overlooking the children's playground. Without a word, you both take a seat.

Jungkook waits patiently, sensing that something's on your mind but unable to pinpoint what. Is it a memory? Someone nearby? "You've got to tell me what you're hiding," he finally says, breaking the silence. "Do I look extra good today, or what?"

he dusts his jacket and makes his eyes to show off himself to you. "Oh, please!" you scoff, rolling your eyes. "Calm down, Mr. Full-of-Yourself." You have to admit though, he looks irresistible in that hoodie and baggy sweatpants, he looks so warm, you might even...

"What is it, then? Why are you blushing so much?" he asks again, this time more insistently. you chuckle and look at the little children sliding down the red max slide. "you wanna know?" you ask and he nods eagerly. you get closer to him, however you don't meet his eyes.

"I had my first kiss here..." Jungkook's ears perk up at your words. "I was 15, and there was this boy named 'Taylor.' We weren't anything official, but I knew he liked me... One afternoon, we walked to this park, just talking about everything—the craziest stuff. We sat on a bench, and he was quiet, a little shy, never saying how he felt. I guess I was too, at first. But then, the words just slipped out..."

your voice trails off, your gaze lowering as a faint blush creeps onto your cheeks. Jungkook watches you intently, his expression soft, his dark eyes focused entirely on you. There's a moment of silence as you gathers your thoughts, his quiet presence giving you the space to continue. "...and before I knew it, it just happened."

your voice is barely a whisper now, face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia. Jungkook leans in slightly, his curiosity evident, waiting patiently as if the story holds more than just words. you take some time as you smile, looking at the kids.

"so.. how was it?" he asks. he doesn't want to show you but he feels tenderly jealous. He's fully aware that this was all a years old tale but he couldn't help but feel that pit in his stomach. "it was really bad, the both of us were....sloppy and god.."

You chuckle softly as you reminisce, watching Jungkook clench his jaw, his lips twitching like he wants to laugh too but holding back. You glance at him and notice how his expression shifts—his brow furrowing deeper with a hint of discomfort. This makes you laugh even harder, and he frowns deeper, clearly resisting a smile.

"What's funny?" he asks, his voice low and serious. You reach out to pinch his cheeks gently. "You look so cute when you're jealous, you know." He frowns again, gently pushing your hand away. "I'm not jealous." "Oh, heck you are," you tease, cupping his jaw and pulling him closer just a little.

"There's no way you're kissing me on this bench where you kissed some random Taylon." You burst into laughter, shaking your head. "His name is Taylor, not Taylon! God, baby, you're hilarious." Jungkook stiffens at that—at the unexpected nickname.

Did you just call him baby? His breath catches for a moment. he looks over at you and sees you still laughing, caressing your bump. "what did you call me again?" he asks. you look around the place like you hadn't heard him, picking your inner cheek to act like you're not with him. "look at me." he murmurs but you don't.

You continue to ignore him, enjoying the moment as you gently tease him. "Darling, look at me," he says softly, pulling your elbow gently to turn you toward him. You comply, your gaze meeting his wide, warm brown eyes. He looks at you like he's never heard that word before—though he often uses it himself, hearing it come from your lips feels different, sweeter.

His heart races, faster than it ever has before. You notice the way his eyes sparkle, full of emotion, and can't help but smile. "What did you call me?" he asks, his voice soft this time, almost reverent. He seems to want the entire world to be silent so that when you say it again, it resonates loudly in his ears—only his, spoken from you.

so you give in to it and whisper. "Baby...my...baby..." This clenches his heart so much, that he feels it in his throat, he feels his heart drop to his stomach, and he feels the little cocoons in his stomach open up and become butterflies as they fly around, making him feel giddy. he loves it, he loves everything you say but this- this is heaven.

he might die if you say it once more. You notice his eyes shifting across your face, each glance more intense than the last. Those sparkles—bright and endless—reveal more than just emotion.

You see the moonlight, galaxies, and the entire universe swirling inside those deep, warm brown orbs. Every blink feels like a new revelation, a glimpse into a world only he holds. you never thought a man would feel so much by one word, but here he is.

the man of your dreams, your life and your world. going crazy that you called him 'baby'. his lips twitch, he can't wait to kiss you. he must kiss you, god, he must. so he does. he cups your jaw and gently places a kiss on your lips. the kiss makes you feel so out of place, it feels soft and tastes ever so sweet. you missed him, that you know, but this much?

it's like you can't get enough of him, and he feels the same. here you are making out with the man you know you are settling with, the father of your child and the man of your unexpected dreams. kissing him on the same spot you had your first kiss and somehow this one feels a thousand times more than anything you've ever felt.

It's real, raw, sweet, it's a dream and everything you've ever needed and ever asked for. it's like living in a bubble, a perfect bubble in a perfect world, with the perfect man and the perfect kiss.

your kiss is interrupted when a little boy comes to you and taps on your knee. you look at him curiously. "hey...are you okay?" you ask him and he nods. he seems to be about 4, not younger or older. he wears a blue jumpsuit and a little bucket hat. "you have a little boy?" he points at your belly and you look down at it with a smile.

"I'm not sure, love. maybe a boy or a little girl.." the boy giggles as he looks over at Jungkook who gives him a wink. "what do you think champ? boy or girl?" "Mmm.," he thinks. "my mama has a baby too. little brother. I think you...have a baby girl." he says and you look at Jungkook with wide eyes who looks back at you with a wide smile.

"yeah?" he asks and the boy nods. "I hope so too.. just like her mama." he murmurs as he looks over to you and you blush. "Jo- jo, come to mama..." you both hear his mother call out for him and he responds immediately. "here.. for you.." he hands you a lollipop, which you take with a smile. "you look pretty, lady..." "thanks love."

"come here." Jungkook gives the boy a high five before walking away toward his mother, who gives you a warm smile. You glance at the man sitting beside you, who has bright red ears. "You heard that?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He nods and opens his arms, pulling you into a gentle side hug. "He was the sweetest boy." "He is, he is," you whisper, smiling softly. Jungkook places a kiss on your head, his thoughts lingering on the moment.

The way you spoke to the child so kindly, with that motherly tenderness, shows a different side of you—a side he hasn't seen before. But he knows without a doubt that he'll cherish this part of you the most. For once in these few months he can't wait to see you give birth to the child you're carrying... his child.

Jungkook and you leave the park after spending only a few minutes there. Once back on the road, you decide to show him around—a little tour of the places that shaped your life. You point out your college, where you spent countless hours chasing dreams and deadlines, and then gesture toward a few of your cousins' homes.

Though you glance their way, you quickly decide against visiting them, especially in your current situation. You know too well that stepping inside would mean turning your personal life into the day's headline.

Your cousins wouldn't hold back from sharing the news with anyone who would listen, and right now, you're not ready for the world to know even though you're cousins are the loveliest people who would be over the moon to meet your baby, you know you need to prepare yourself and Jungkook for this before you face them.

As the evening dwindles, Jungkook and you wander around town, pausing frequently at various stores so you can use the restroom—pregnancy often comes with its own set of challenges and honestly you're so done with them, you can't wait to be free but you know you're gonna miss this way too much once you've given birth.

you feel beautiful and you love the feeling of carrying your child inside you, it's a blessing that you cherish so much. "I'm feeling for some ice cream right now..." you mumble and the man beside you squints his eyes as he turns to face you. "I do not like the sound of that." he says which makes you groan.

"I'm not gonna fall sick! I need some." "Nuh-uh, you've been having way too many the past few months, I can't take the risk." Jungkook can be very protective and sometimes he is very serious about it, when he says no, it's a no. but not now, you haven't had anything cold for some time and you know the ice cream takes well here, especially the ice cream trucks that serve the best crispy cones.

"please, I promise I won't have any more ice cream until I deliver. this will be the last!" You plead, and somehow, this prompts him to roll his eyes. He dislikes seeing you lower yourself like that. he glances at you and sees how you've got that ridiculous pout on your face that makes his insides clench because you look so fucking adorable so he can't say no.

"you promise?" "I do!" you say and nod eagerly, which makes him chuckle. "fine, puppy." He mutters under his breath, following the directions you give him as you guide him through the streets to one of the town's most famous ice cream trucks.

"I can't park there, where sh—" "Just park on the side; we can walk down," you cut in. "Oh, no, no, no," he scoffs, shaking his head. "I'm not letting you walk that far." "Jungkook, stop being a dad now." "I'm being a dad?! I'm your man of course I'm gonna take care of you, that's a long way down, you can't walk so far."

"I can and we will so park right there Mr. Jeon, come with me." He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. You're being stubborn again—something he dislikes, but he knows it's part of the package that is you, and he has to handle it. You might have noticed the subtle shift in his mood caused by your insistence.

"I'm sorry," you mumble softly, guilt creeping into your voice. "I just wanted to walk with you while I eat some ice cream." He sighs, his tone gentle as he responds. "I wasn't mad, darling. I'm just worried about you." he places his palm on yours and rubs his thumb.

"we'll do as you wish." he smiles and parks the car by the street before helping you. you both walk down the lane, admiring the surroundings and how couples are all around the place, making you feel like you're one of them too something you've always been jealous of, that you don't have your person but all the people do. but here you are, with your man, walking down to get some ice cream you've been craving.

"the clouds are getting dark." Jungkook says and you look up. "I hope it doesn't rain." You both stand in line, patiently waiting for your turn. You already know what you're going to order, but a strange craving has been tugging at you, and you desperately hope they'll accommodate your request. Jungkook stands beside you, his hand enveloping yours as he gently caresses and plays with your fingers.

he loves how your skin is always so soft, he doesn't know how, maybe it's your body lotion. but it does magic, or maybe it's just you. You're magical anyway. "ooo, I can't wait!" you clap and giggle like a child, which makes him giggle too. You've become such a foodie and he loves seeing you do the happy dance and make all those crazy yet cute sounds.

you feel a few baby kicks and you so badly want Jungkook to feel them but you're waiting until your surprise. You've been planning a few surprises for him and hopefully, they go well and maybe he'll bond with the baby better.

He's getting along well, very well and it makes you so happy but you know he can do better and maybe when you surprise him with everything, then he will open up more and be himself when it comes to baby matters until then you tell yourself to calm down and feel these kicks by yourself.

"good evening kids, what you'll like to have?" the vendor asks, you can easily say he's an aged man in his 50's, who loves spreading joy. you smile back at him and look at the flavors. the cotton candy intrigues you with its pink and purple shades even the birthday cake flavor looks good, so you decide to get that.

"One scoop of cotton candy and a scoop of birthday cake, with some sprinkles, chocolate syrup- oh and strawberry syrup...and maybe some...caramel sauce too," you mutter and Jungkook's eyes widen like saucers when you say all the topping options available.

"Okay-" "in a waffle cone!" that was all it took for Jungkook to crack up. the vendor laughs too as he shakes his head and grabs a cone. "on it kiddo. pregnancy is wild I guess."

he says to Jungkook, giving him a wink as he scoops the ice cream. "very wild I must say." "It's all a fun ride, enjoy while it lasts.... what would you have?" he asks. "one mint and choc only, thanks," "ew." you comment in a whisper, as Jungkook gives you a side eye.

"here you go, mama." the man hands you the ice cream which looks crazy but you know it's gonna be super satisfying for your cravings. "love to see adults being kids." the man says as he hands Jungkook his ice cream and he pays the bill. "mmmmmm, this is so good!" "is it?" "you wanna tr-" "oh hell no- enjoy your craving miss."

He holds your hand again as you both slowly make your way to the car. "Y/n..." "Mm?" you respond, looking up at him. He glances over to see you carefully shaping your ice cream into something he can't quite describe—you're trying to form its sides and shape it, and it's a bit odd because then you bite into it and it gets all messy, but he finds it endearing.

"What?" you ask again, and he lets out a small snicker. "You're crazy you know." "mm hmm, tell me something I don't know." this makes him scoff as he nods his head and looks at you again. "you keep looking at me... what? is there ice cream on my face?" you ask, not sparing a glance at him, fully focused on flavoring your delicious treat.

"I keep looking at you because you're beautiful," you let out a sigh. "tell me something I don't know." this makes him laugh, he loves your cocky side, you're a crazy woman. As you both walk, he starts to feel a few drops falling on his skin. At first, he doesn't think much of it, but soon enough, it begins to drizzle. "It's starting to rain,"

he says, and you both pick up the pace. He doesn't want you to get wet, especially with ice cream in hand, so you both hurry yet carefully to the car. By the time you reach it, though, you're already soaked. "hurry."

He opens the door and helps you get inside safely before he gets to the driver's seat. "fuck." he breathes heavily while you're struggling to breathe, because you can't stop laughing. "y/n this is not f-"

"oh my god, this has to be the most fun I've ever had in a long long time!!" you say, holding your belly because it's hurting so much with the laughter. "baby you're soaked. oh god.." He takes off his hoodie and hands it to you.

"Here, put this on." you hand him your half-eaten ice cream cone before taking the hoodie. Without hesitation, you slip it on, letting out a soft "mmm" as the warmth surrounds you.

Despite being damp on the outside, the thick material hadn't absorbed much water, allowing his comforting warmth to seep into your body. he admires you from top to toe, he fucking loves it when you wear any of his clothes, it gives him butterflies especially when it doesn't fit you, and it makes him realize how small you are.

"you're gonna be cold though." you mumble as you look over at him and notice him in a tank top, he doesn't say anything just tsks you. You zone out for a moment, wrapping yourself snugly in the oversized sleeves that practically swallow you whole. He watches you with a soft smile, shaking his head in disbelief. You're such a kid—it's almost hard for him to believe.

Just a few months ago, you were so different, someone he imagined would grow into a fierce, unstoppable woman. But now? Now, you're just a sweet, endearing puppy, and this whole journey has been nothing short of a whirlwind. "shall we go home?" you look at him immediately. "what no! we didn't have dinner-"

"but you're wet, baby. let's get you changed, don't want you to fall sick now." he turns off the ac and gives you back your cone. "you've had ice cream too.. and we have to pack anyway, we'll be leaving in a few hours." "yeah now that's exciting." you mutter and he raises his eyebrows. "woah you're being straight-up rude now."

"What?!?! I just want you all to myself." he places his palm on your thigh and rubs it. "you have all of me anyway." "yeah but.." you let your finger caress his jaw to tease him and he understands your motive yet he doesn't say anything, he knows if he says something to tease you back, you might hop on to him and just take him raw.

now that's not what he wants, not in the car and certainly not in the middle of the streets, You've both outgrown that with this pregnancy, now it's time to be more responsible. "I know darling, I know." "ugh Jungkook, you're such a pussy blocker." he cracks up and looks at you like you're insane. "what the fuck is that?!!" "exactly what you are, mister." "Oh, baby..."

you both get back home safely, your mother rushes to bring a towel to dry off your hair and Jungkook does his own. "did you both have fun?" Your mom asks, and you nod quickly, spilling everything about what you both did—how the time flew by, how many bathroom breaks you had to take, and how you ended up getting ice cream.

;

Meanwhile, Jungkook takes over the packing. Since you're busy hanging out with your parents, he figures it's best to give you three sometime alone. After packing his stuff, he heads upstairs to tackle yours too.

"Hey, I'll do your packing, okay?" he says softly. "I'll help y—" "No, no, don't worry. Spend time with your parents," he whispers with a reassuring smile, just as your mom asks if you'd like some tea. "I'll have black tea!"

he shouts before heading upstairs. Jungkook steps into your room and opens your wardrobe, ready to pack your clothes. As he pulls the doors open, his eyes catch the posters plastered inside. He can't help but laugh, shaking his head at the glimpse of your teenage self.

He starts folding your clothes neatly, grabbing your toothbrush, hairbrush, and face wash before opening the suitcase to pack them. When he spots a few bags tucked inside the suitcase, he hesitates.

He knows it's your stuff and debates leaving it alone, but curiosity gets the better of him. Carefully, he peeks inside one and freezes when he finds a few baby clothes, most of them with words like "Daddy" and "Dada" printed on them. He stares for a moment, his mind racing, before quickly closing it back up, deciding not to pry any further.

Letting out a small breath, he grabs a fresh set of clothes for you, zips the bag, and finishes up quietly. "did you need some help?" you scare him when you walk inside the room, he sighs and shakes his head. "nop, all done." you hand him the tea and sit beside him on the edge of the bed. You notice he's a bit quiet and it whirls your mind a bit then you think, he might seen the little clothes. "did you snoop on my things-"

"what?! No!" he says too fast which takes you back but then he sighs and nods. "I did, I'm sorry- I didn't mean t-" "dad gave them..." You say it with a small smile, but his brows knit together when he hears your words.

"But when?" he asks, genuinely confused, especially since he hadn't noticed your dad going anywhere. You chuckle softly, placing your hand gently on top of his. "After you told him..." "Told him what?"

Jungkook blurts out, utterly baffled. He stares at you, completely lost, trying to piece together what you mean but coming up empty. "about you.." you whisper and this makes him chuckle. "seriously?" "I know my dad is a bit.." "he's cool, he's a cool dad." Jungkook says, remembering how kind your dad was to him and how he jokes around.

"I- i never got a chance to say this because I was upset too but... I'm sorry that they were rude to you. They never usually do that but I think everything was too overwhelming so-" "You do not have to say sorry for that." Jungkook turns to face you, taking both your hands in his and holding them tightly. "I understand, it was a very justified reaction.

Your parents are sweet, I'm just happy that they are supportive now and have accepted me." his words touch a part of you and you can't say that you feel very grateful to have an understanding man like him.

He looks at you and smiles, his eyes smile before his lips do and that says everything you. You can't wait to tell him the words that you've been feeling, but you know the right time will come and it may be now but next time could be better.

The two of you continue to look at each other for some time until he takes his palm and places it on top of your bump, caressing it. "all good?" he questions and you nod, placing your palm on his. "All Very good." the two of you break into laughter.

;

The four of you sit down for dinner together. Your mom initially planned to cook, but you were adamant about getting takeout from the In-N-Out pop-up since it's something you can't get back in Korea. The meal is lively, filled with laughter and lighthearted jokes, making the evening feel warm and effortless. You're relieved to see how easily Jungkook connects with your parents, but for him, it's something much deeper.

He's not just bonding—he feels like he's found a family, a complete one. He sees your mother as his own, your father as the father he's always longed for. It's everything he's ever dreamed of, and for once, it's not just a dream. He's living it. "okay y/n, time to leave." he looks over at his watch, the cab is gonna be here any minute now.

You nod and walk to your mother, giving her a big hug. "I'm gonna miss you, Mom." "Oh dear, take care of yourself and the baby. Call me every day, and let me know when you deliver, okay?" your mom says, cupping your face gently before kissing your cheek. She then caresses your bump with a warm smile. "Oh, the baby is so big! I can't wait to meet him or her." You smile back, your heart full. Your dad steps closer, waiting patiently for his turn.

He looks at you with kind eyes and opens his arms wide. "Take care, honey," he says softly, pulling you into a warm hug and placing a tender kiss on your hair. Jungkook stands to the side, watching the whole exchange. A tinge of emotion swells in his chest as he takes in the sweetness of the moment. It's heartwarming, almost overwhelming, to witness such love.

Then your dad turns to him, his expression just as warm. Without hesitation, he pulls Jungkook into the biggest hug he's ever received, leaving him momentarily stunned but deeply moved. "take care, son, we're always with you. " Jungkook feels something in his veins, he feels so loved, he feels that fatherly affection and it's so so nice.

"take care of my y/n, and the baby too yes?" "will always, dad." Jungkook gives your dad another hug, a tight one which makes the both of them chuckle. you smile and hold Jungkook's hand. "take care Jungkook." your mother says and he smiles. he runs to give her a hug, carefully placing his arms around her as she pats him in the back. "see you soon, mom.." he mumbles and she gives him a tight forced smile. "the cabs here, we'll take your leave"

Your dad helps you to the door, steadying you with a gentle grip, while Jungkook lingers behind to grab some snacks, something you always seem to forget. "She always forgets to pack snacks," he mutters to your mom as he stuffs a few bags of chips into his carry-on. "She knows she'll be hungry in about four hours, She can be so clums—"

"I know my daughter loves you with all her heart, and I know everything was just a mistake, but if you don't marry her, Jungkook... I swear, I will not let her stay with you for long." Jungkook pauses as your mother speaks.

"I love my daughter, but I also value our family name, she's naive and has done a terrible mistake which i can not reverse, but if you don't make things legitimate—like they're supposed to be- I might as well, find someone better for her."

next chapter ⇢

i don't usually type a/n notes here because i don't have much of an audience here on tumblr like wattpad but happy new year!! hope this update was good enough, do leave a like and comment if you enjoyed reading this chap!! mwah.

#one night stand #bts #btswritersclub #bts fanfic #jungkook #theagstd #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook series

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