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st4r-struckz · 22 days ago

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i've been lurking around the rosekiller tag for a long while and i see a lot of people asking for rosekiller-centric fic recs, so if anyone cares here's my hand-picked list of rosekiller fic recs. this includes a lot of the popular ones but also some less-popular and very underrated ones (i think). anyways hopefully i'm doing this right cuz i've never posted on here before soo pls be kind if i make a mistake abt something idk.

this includes both long/multi-chapter fics and one shots btw.

also be warned; this is pretty long even though i tried to keep things short-ish (but i can't help it these are all such good fics i have to talk about them!!!). if you want the rough-ish approximation of this list in the form of a spreadsheet with more details (me ranting about how much i love these fics), click here.

LONG FICS (or basically just more than 1 chapter fics)

why do stars fall down from the sky, every time that you walk by by ricecake_13 (E, 117k, 17/?) this is actually my favorite ongoing rosekiller fic ever oh my god, it's a modern high school au with lots of povs and ships though rosekiller is the main one. beautifully written, gorgeous plot/pacing, amazing characterization, incredibly underrated, please read this it's a masterpiece.

The Blood of Hyacinthus by writingamarie (M, 175k, 14/20) another one of my fav ongoing fics, it's a canon compliant rosekiller fic (ravenclaw barty my beloved!!!) starting from first year all throughout the war. this is probably the best portrayal of canon compliant rosekiller i've seen, they aren't portrayed as poor kids who got roped into the war, they made their own decisions, and i love it so much.

Just Deserts by paletragedycat (M, 700k, 43/?) i'm at around like chapter 10 of this absolute beast of a fic and i am begging you guys to give this fic more attention. it's absolutely incredibly written with a fantastic plot, gorgeous characterization, this fic is absolutely insane like. this deserves to be like the crimson rivers of rosekiller. the plot is lowkey kinda hard to explain but umm. some of them are detectives, some of them are bodyguards, some of them are criminals. super cool. this fic is actually just so so impressive and so incredibly underrated it hurts.

sun tea in the summer by cademygod (NR, 44k, 10/12) this is THE rosekiller coming of age story i swear, modern au that starts when they're kids and each chapter they age 1 year, super cute and fluffy, i am such a sucker for childhood friends to lovers tropes omg.

Evan Rosier and the Unbearable Weight of his Own Decisions by Mylifeisaworm (E, 145k, 35/?) another great portrayal of canon compliant rosekiller, i really love how this one features all the slytherins we typically don't like (snape, mulciber, wilkes, etc.) bc it makes this fic feel even more realistic. this is a super awesome take on canon rosekiller and i love it.

Head Over Feet by sanguinerose (E, 136k, 27/27) i'm sure you guys have heard of this one but it's a modern au, super great, it's everything i've ever wanted from a rosekiller high school au. and evan is french btw god i love french evan rosier so much.

PRETTY BOY by IvyCore (E, 96k, 10/10) this is part of a series, the first part is SUGAR HIGH which is a jegulus fic but honestly this can probably?? be read without reading that one first (even though i still super recommend it). barty is a sex worker and a pianist and evan is a restaurant owner and this is just so so good omg.

intermission by bizarrestars (M, 43k, 4/4) very sure you all have heard of this fic (and for good reason too, it's fantastic) but in case you haven't it's a no voldemort au but still at hogwarts and in the same universe as just lovers (jegulus, also amazing, like the second marauders fic i read i think). this is so sweet and fluffy and cute and this fic is what got me into rosekiller i think soo yeah.

Tug by pressedink (E, 70k, 12/?) rosekiller dating app au where they pair two strangers together in an apartment and they can do whatever except they can't kiss or else they can never seen each other again. except barty and evan are not strangers. i loove this fic, and it's super smutty if that's up your alley. (did i use that phrase right? i feel like i didn't but whatever.)

Beneath the Mask by orphan_account (T, 105k, 44/44) okay this one is a really interesting concept, it's broken up into two timelines: one following them during their hogwarts years and the other following evan while he navigates life after the wizarding war. idk it's a bit hard to explain but. you'll see. so yeah all the war stuff does happen but they both survive afterwards. i really enjoyed this, it was a really interesting take on the whole war situation.

A Truthful Joke by justreadandwritex (T, 30k, 9/9) best friends to lovers au set at hogwarts but idk if voldemort exists (if he does he's not mentioned). just rosekiller being incredibly stupid and cute and oblivious.

Straight A's by stargirly161 (T, 32k, 14/14) academic rivals to lovers rosekiller oh my god i need to see more of them. another pretty popular one and understandably so because it's amazing in every aspect, i've reread this one like 3 times.

Ant Pile by sommerregenjuniluft (E, 21k, 2/2) super super amazing rosekiller coming of age fic and childhood best friends to lovers, god i love this fic. the story starts when they're little kids and it is the most adorable thing ever and ends when they're like 18 and it's just. so good. please read it.

having a ghost in my bed by v7lgar (E, 42k, 3/3) modern au and okayyy wow this is legit just smut all the way through and WOW is it something, this is like some of the best rosekiller smut i've read. if you're just looking for some smut this is the place to look.

I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance with You by greensenne (M, 122k, 18/18) you've probably heard of this one but i'm still including it, this is set post-hogwarts (so there's still magic i think) but it's a no voldemort au. basically barty's getting married and evan is his best man except Feelings get in the way. very very cute, quite slow burn but it's very worth it.

Tender Curiosities, Baby! by otrtbs (M, 79k, 6/6) ahh another popular one, it's in the same universe as art heist, baby! which you have probably definitely heard of (it's a fantastic jegulus art heist fic). anywayss yeah this fic focuses on rosekiller and it is so so good, idk if it can be read as a standalone though...cause there are a lot of references to ahb!

Rock Bottom by floretissogay (T, 7.9k, 10/10) super super cute and fluffy rosekiller texting fic, there's like zero angst it's literally just fluff and silliness.

Off the Edge of the Earth, and Farther Still by typhoid_fluu (M, 17k, 11/?) this one hasn't been updated in a while buut it's a canon compliant rosekiller au following them throughout hogwarts starting from first year. super cute, at least so far (cuz they're still in first year).

annoying by facestraightoutamagazine (M, 101k, 31/31) another great texting fic, it's a wrong number au and goddd i'm a sucker for those. this one has like minimal angst, it's all just vibes and silliness, it's super cute and funny and i've reread this one like 3 times.

Say Something by writingamarie (E, 43k, 12/12) PLEASE give this fic more attention i am begging. it's incredible in every aspect - the writing, the characterization, the pacing (especially the pacing omg you'll see what i mean when you read this fic), everything. rosekiller friends with benefits will always be my favorite. please guys just please this fic is so underrated it hurts.

bad idea, right? by sparklejumpropequeen79 (NR, 30k, 13/?) this fic got discontinued but i really liked it while i was reading it so i'm still mentioning it in case you don't mind reading fics that won't be finished? idk. no voldemort au where barty and evan are really stupid about their feelings. typical rosekiller stuff.

kiss him you fool. by everlovelymoony (M, 8k, 4/4) this fic is so goddamn cute i actually can't. barty is a kindergarten teacher and luna is in his class and evan is luna's uncle. can we please please have more rosekiller teacher AUs please.

Obsessed by andromeden (E, 40k, 2/2) barty stalks his boyfriend's ex and uhh yeah. this is 40k words of barty and evan being incredibly fucked up and also made for each other. rosekiller at their finest, you know. probably mind the tags though.

Ashes to Ashes by lupinist (M, 13k, 3/3) rosekiller friends to lovers never gets old. very well written, amazing dynamic and characterization, super underrated!

a rose will be for a rose (timelessness for your love) by iWrite (T, 6.8k, 2/2) rosekiller spin the bottle and being dumbasses about their feelings. only a light bit of angst, super cute, love it.

show me those pretty white jaws by 214lilacsky (E, 144k, 15/15) recently started reading this one and i do not know what took me so long because holy shit the writing is beautiful, the characterization is beautiful, just like. this whole fic. beautiful. wow. this is a fairly popular one i think and i absolutely see why.

Pickup or Delivery by lifeisabitch (E, 41k, 15/15) this is so so good, i am absolutely obsessed with their characterization and dynamic here. they are absolute freaks and i am living for it.

i would say i love you (but it's so hard, i won't say it at all) by avesgraveyard (M, 74k, 9/?) road trip au with a bunch of other marauders characters, this is super super cute and evan and barty are incredibly bad at feelings (as they always are) and i just. love this so much. i've reread this one many times before.

with a taste of your lips im on a run by siriusstardust (G, 6.9k, 2/?) wrong number rosekiller au that i am really really enjoying so far, it's super cute and funny and silly.

ONE-SHOTS

no one’s gonna say anything against a dude kissing his homie good luck by sommerregenjuniluft (M, 3k) literally the title, they're skateboarding, uhhh yeah. i really like the vibes of this fic, evan and barty are dumbass teenagers who are toootally just platonic, which is honestly my favorite version of rosekiller.

loving you (is the antidote) by serendipitysirius (M, 13k) amortentia fic, sue me i'm a sucker for those. it is canon compliant but voldemort and the war aren't really mentioned.

don’t want none of this (good times, all the time) by cheeryknots (M, 3.9k) one of my fav rosekiller one shots, i swear i reread this like once every two months lol. it's set at hogwarts and they're at a party and they play spin the bottle and they get Jealous and it's just! so good.

Holding My Heart Out In Shaking Hands by twoclosetothestars (NR, 9k) modern au, i read this one a while ago but i remember really enjoying it. this one has it all; smut, angst, and fluff (in that order).

most fun i ever had (i did something bad) by cheeryknots (E, 5k) this is an incredible work of art holy shit. there's also a second part to this series (the series is appropriately named rosekiller murder husbands) that i also adore so check that one out too. this is legit just smut and rosekiller being absolutely insane and very much in love and i love it so much they are freaks your honor.

ghosting by dracure (E, 5.3k) evan and james are together in this one (not for long after the events in this fic though lmao).

my way or the highway by heartnipnops (E, 6.1k) car sex!!! yay. yeah idk what else to say this is great smut uhh yeah.

Shotgun by DayDreamingQueen (E, 3.1k) more rosekiller car sex (more specifically blowjob). except they aren't even together in this one. how do you literally suck your friend off in a car and just. go on with your life. they are actually so stupid it's astounding. great fic though.

16 missed calls by katakosmos (E, 1.9k) i think i'm actually a little insane for age gap rosekiller idk. been stalking the rosekiller tag on here for long enough to know you all are too. so if you haven't seen this..

the best of you, honey, belongs to me by vianexa (E, 7.7k) rosekiller murder husbands with a whole lot of sexual tension except no actual smut happens (it's crazy), god i do love insane batshit crazy rosekiller.

sharpshooter by heartnipnops (E, 4.7k) A+ rosekiller smut, college/university au.

everybody plays the beautiful game while out in brazil by bloodytreason (T, 3.4k) au where evan is an olympic tennis player. this au is something i did not know i needed, like this is gold (wait that pun was not intended oops wait does that even count as a pun), i need more olympics AUs now.

The Way He Loves by wiggentree (T, 4k) i have reread this one countless times over and over, this is one of the first rosekiller fics i read and i will never stop coming back to it. so so good. i think it captures their dynamic really well and i am just. obsessed.

a rose will i bloom in my soul by iWrite (E, 5.5k) holy hell this is actually so good i might actually combust 100/10 rosekiller smut.

limbs by dracure, virginprayer (E, 2.2k) beautiful beautiful smut

sick, twisted, and selfish by jamespottermixtape (fushigayro) (E, 3k) rosekiller murder husbands my beloved they are insane i love them.

You are in love by rachel_elizabeth_truth (NR, 4.4k) this is so beautiful and lovely, it's based off of you are in love by taylor swift which is such a rosekiller coded song tbh.

aces up your sleeve by dracure (T, 1.6k) evan with a tongue piercing. i, like barty, would probably also go feral for that.

Call It What You Want by lxcuxex (T, 23k) clueless, oblivious, idiots in love rosekiller my beloved. incredibly long oneshot about rosekiller trying to get their shit together. love to see it.

my lost lover (i was made for you) by jamespottermixtape (fushigayro) (E, 9.2k) oh my fucking god this is so great, i don't typically read a lot of vampire/supernatural fics but this one. absolutely wonderful.

Midnight Rain by blackmojito (T, 10k) christmas fic (though it's not the main focus), this is so sweet and cute and just so beautifully written oh my gosh.

second guessing by dracure (E, 8k) gorgeous amazing beautiful fantastic everything about this fic. just wonderful.

such a lovely place to die with you by cheeryknots (E, 4.3k) apocalyptic au where they meet at the end of the world, this is so so beautiful.

Eyeliner by aithusarosekiller (NR, 1.9k) evan helps barty get ready for a party by helping him apply eyeliner. honestly i do not blame evan at all i would have the same reaction seeing barty with eyeliner.

remember that night by orphan_account (G, 5.1k) some hurt/comfort about barty not remembering a drunken kiss. really really good omg.

Pretty Cool by trinavera (G, 4k) very very cute high school au where they meet in detention (evan is the detention monitor).

Me and You by polyjuicedpadfoot (E, 8.8k) oh my goshhh i really really like this one, it deals a bit with the war and them becoming death eaters and stuff. super great.

Something of Mine by stoned_regulus (M, 5.3k) rosekiller post breakup, it deals with Feelings and some drug abuse stuff. it's pretty angsty but really good.

speak now (or forever hold your peace) by rweoutofthewoods (T, 3.7k) this is like equal parts rosekiller and jegulus but anyways. yeah james and evan crash regulus and barty's wedding.

like smoke behind glass by 214lilacsky (E, 4.6k) i am definitely super normal about this fic (no i am not i love this oneshot with my whole being it's one of my favorites).

when the heart would cease (ours never knew peace) by boundinchaos (T, 12.5k) au where evan doesn't actually die, but barty still goes to azkaban. also after reading this fic i desperately need more fics about barty and sirius interacting in azkaban.

AND LASTLY...SOME STUFF ON MY TBR LIST

i haven't gotten around to reading these ones yet but i really want to soo yeah. check these out if you want!

we can take it out back by roadsidehorror (E, 78k, 9/9)

Run, Baby, Run by saltywench (E, 16k, 10/10)

Nothing On You by the_brightest_star_in_leo (T, 1k, 1/1)

i desire violently- and wait by archivistrose (cursedstar) (M, 53k, 16/?)

He's Not Mine (but he could be) by the_brightest_star_in_leo (E, 18k, 6/6)

Silencing the Monster by Written_Willis (E, 7.7k, 1/1)

stoned off you (now i'm stone cold sober) by 214lilacsky (E, 30k, 1/1)

Persistence by stellar_jay (E, 11k, 1/1)

sacrosanct by vanity_scribblings (M, 6.3k, 1/1)

okay yeah this is all, i probably will never post on tumblr again and will go back to lurking after this lmao. if you're still reading this i hope?? you enjoyed?? yeah that's it byee feel free to drop some more recs (in the replies? idk how tumblr works lowkey😭) cause i'm always on the lookout for more of these two🙏

#rosekiller #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #marauders era

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604to647 · 9 months ago

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Third Movement (Presto agitato)

11K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: What do you do now that you realize you have feelings for the Barón?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Pining and Angst. Semi public kissing, groping and sex. Someone comes in his breeches 🤷🏻‍♀️. F!oral, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected PiV. Pet names (spanish), Pero catches reader and gives her a little twirl once.

A/N: I'm sorry for the word count 😅😅 I feel like the pacing of this final part is kind of like season 1 of Bridgerton where it was like 5 episodes of flirting and then SMUTSMUTSMUT 🤭🤭 Just wanted to give our Spaniard and his Dulce a HEA, that's all! Please please correct my Spanish!! Google won't be offended! Thank you for reading along and hope you're looking forward to Season 3 of Bridgerton next week!

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼 Second Movement 🎼

The following morning you wake to your ladies’ maid gently shaking you and a massive headache. Barely able open your eyes, so puffy from crying, you’re sure you gave her a terrible fright. After asking for and drinking some water, you try using the cool glass to depuff your eyes and alleviate the pounding in your head, but no difference is made; you continue to feel positively awful. Daphne comes into your room at the behest of the maid and immediately sees you’re much too unwell to entertain visitors today; it’s an easy decision to send all your suitors away and have them come back when you’re better. When you start to apologize for causing a fuss, she immediately shushes you and insists you get rest - she will have the maids bring up some soothing tea. You lay back down, exhausted, and drift off in the middle of telling her how much you love her.

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Pero steps into Bridgerton House just as several young men are leaving; as they brush past him, he spots Colin speaking with a maid in the main foyer.

“Tovar! It’s been ages – how have you been?” Colin beams when he sees his friend.

In truth, Pero is here to see you; he can’t quite get over the look of distress on your face when you left him last night. Not for the first time, Pero silently curses Lord Ridlington for having sent over women to his house unsolicited last night, his apparent idea of a prank. Leaving the women to themselves in a waiting room, Pero had been discussing with his butler the next course of action when you had surprised him beneath his window. After you left, he made the proper arrangements for the women to leave discreetly, and had gone to bed thinking of you as usual.

“I’ve been well, thank you. Hope things have been going well here? Have today’s suitors started their visits earlier than usual?” He gestures to another three men now descending the stairs and making towards the exit in an orderly line.

“No, my Lord,” the maid explains, “Miss is ill today. Her suitors have been sent away and asked to return when she has recovered and is ready to receive visitors again.”

“Ill?!” How could you have taken ill when he just saw you? Instantly Pero admonishes himself for having kept you standing outside last night - the night chill must have disagreed with you. “Please,” he begs, “take me to see her.”

The maid looks panic stricken. Surely this Spanish nobleman must understand the impropriety of a man being let in to the bed chambers of an unmarried woman.

Colin diverts her attention, “Marie, it will be okay. Barón Tovar is an old family friend of the Count’s. There is nothing improper afoot. The door will remain open and you and I shall both be but a step away.”

With Mr. Bridgerton’s assurance, Marie the maid leads the two men to your door and opens it wide before stepping back to wait outside with Colin. Pero walks into darkness, the curtains still drawn to help you sleep and ease the pain of your headache, but your magnetic pull leads him to you with no issue.

Kneeling by your bedside, Pero says your name softly, but you do not stir. He goes to push aside some hair that’s fallen across your forehead and is alarmed when it feels hot to the touch; using the back of his hand to check your forehead and cheeks, he finds you clammy and feverish. Shouting for Marie, both Colin and the maid rush in to Pero’s call, “Please find the Duchess! Her friend is running a fever and a doctor needs to be called. And please bring me a basin of cold water and a clean washcloth at once!”

Daphne rushes in minutes later to find Pero dabbing your forehead with the wet cloth that Marie procured, “Oh no! I saw her this morning and knew she was unwell, but I did not think to check for a temperature!”

Shaking his head softly, Pero entreats the Duchess, “Do not blame yourself, your Grace. Likely this morning she was not feverish when you saw her. Please, has a doctor been called?”

The Duchess nods tearfully, grateful for Pero’s kind words and feeling a kinship with this man who clearly shares her tremendous concern for your well being.

When the doctor arrives, Daphne stays in the room and gives Pero a nod of reassurance; he leaves begrudgingly though he knows you are in safe hands with the Duchess. Hovering impatiently never more than a step away from the door, Pero breathes a sigh of relief when he overhears the doctor say that your temperature is no longer increasing, and that if kept cool and comfortable, your fever should easily break over the next day or two. He vows to ensure both conditions are met to the best of his abilities until the moment you awake.

After the doctor leaves and Daphne has gone in search of a servant to fetch your father, Pero stays by your side, continuously stroking your hair gently and dabbing your hot skin with a cool cloth. Every time Daphne passes by the open door of your room, she looks in to find Pero watching over you, brows furrowed, eyes full of concern and worry. Sometimes the Duchess will see Pero’s lips moving, speaking gently to you - though she never hears the words he says, she can tell they’re heartfelt. It becomes crystal clear to her that two weeks ago she had simply asked the Barón the wrong question; instead of “Do you intend to court her?”, she should have asked Pero: “Do you love her?” The answer obvious.

Pero never leaves your side, not when the Bridgerton women visit, or even when your father comes. He just tucks himself into the corner of the room until their visits are over, as if afraid to leave you. When it’s just him and you alone, he tries his best to make sure you’re comfortable, arranging your blankets nicely and propping up your pillows so that your sleep is restful and serene. He requests that cool water and clean cloths are at his constant disposal, and makes sure to dab your face, neck, and decolletage at consistent intervals in order to keep your temperature down. And while he does so, Pero continuously talks to you, encouraging you to get better, coaxing you back to him.

He calls you carino, hermosa, princesa, mi reina, mi amor, and all the other endearments he doesn’t ever let himself call you save for in his head. He lavishes you with compliments and words of praise that he's never allowed to slip past his lips - how perfect you are, how sweet and smart, that he doesn’t know anyone else like you and that your cheerful demeanor and melodic voice are the only things that can ever make him smile. He tells you how he hasn’t smiled as much as he has since he reunited with you at the Danbury ball in years. He confesses that every time he holds you while you dance, he has trouble letting go when the music ends, and when he sees another man take your hand and spin you around the room, he has to hold himself back from physically stepping in and pulling you back into his arms. He tells you that he finds you beautiful and intoxicating, and describes every last inch of you that he can’t stop dreaming about, but lingers the longest in his description of your eyes and the richness of expressions they make that leave him breathless. He tells you all these things because if he doesn’t say them out loud, he thinks he will burst from having to hold his feelings in all the time. He tells you these things because he knows you will never hear them.

As the doctor predicted, the fever breaks late the following day and you start to stir shortly after. Blinking your eyes open slowly, they come into focus to your father’s worry lined face and you watch as it cracks with relief, “Welcome back, dearest. How do you feel?”

Not sure you can trust your voice right now, you give your father a small smile and nod when he says he needs to get the doctor. In the few minutes you have alone, you try to get your bearings; the last thing you remember is waking to a terrible headache and falling back asleep after Daphne told you she would be sending your suitors away. You swear you have vague memories of Pero’s voice and soft touch, but that couldn’t have been real. Pero. Oh. You remember now the reason for having woken up before feeling empty and sad, but you don’t have too long to linger on it because your father returns swiftly with the doctor.

After declaring you well on your way to a full recovery, the doctor leaves you with your father; the Count, looking like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, hugs you tightly and clasps his hands tightly over yours, “I am so glad you are better, dearest. Now, will you please tell your suffering father what is troubling that heart of yours?”

You’re shocked. How could your father know about your feelings for Pero when you only realized them a few nights ago? Your surprise must be written all over your face because the Count gently explains, “My dear, in the entirety of your life, you have only ever had such a fever twice, both times due to crying yourself sick from heartbreak. The first time was when you were a young girl and I read you The Little Mermaid - the ending saddened you to tears. The other was when we were leaving Portugal and I didn’t let you keep the stray puppy you had been feeding for a month. This is how I know something ails your heart terribly. Please. Tell your father so he can help you.”

Your heart swells with affection for your father - he has always been the most loving and caring man, attentive to your feelings and understanding of your nature. There is no one on this earth who you trust so whole heartedly and with whom you feel so safe. Except for Pero, you suddenly realize.

You tell your father everything. You tell him about how Pero lets you be yourself without reservation, and that with him you don’t need to temper down your enthusiasm for your interests or make your experiences seem smaller than they are. How he encourages you in everything you do and makes you feel like you’re capable of anything and everything. He respects you and approaches you with kindness, always making you feel safe and taken care of. That he makes you laugh all the time. And that you’ve taken Pero and his wonderfulness for granted, not realizing just how rare and valuable all his amazing qualities are because if you had you would have figured out earlier that you’re completely in love with him. You cry softly and confess to your father that your heart is broken because you’re in love with a man who will never see you more than a childhood compatriot, and that you may never get over this sad truth.

The Count listens to you sympathetically, and when you’re finished, he simply tilts his head thoughtfully and asks, “How do you know he does not care for you in the same manner?”

You can hardly tell your father that you snuck out of Bridgerton House and interrupted Pero when he had company over, so you have to cite another reason you’re so certain of how Pero feels about you. But you find yourself struggling to come up with any concrete examples or reasoning that satisfy even yourself; all you can say is, “Because he wishes for me to find a husband. He encourages me to do so. I’m simply the daughter of his father’s friend.”

Something like bemusement dances over your father’s face, “It seems to a me that a man who thinks of you as simply the daughter of his father’s friend would not have purchased my shares in the fleet.”

You’re absolutely stunned. Pero purchased your father’s shares? But why? There was no inherent income from the investment, the dividends benefitted you and your future children only, “Why would Pero do that?”

“You will have to ask him yourself, dearest. It shouldn’t be too long before he visits himself now that he’s likely heard you’re awake. He had not left your bedside for nearly two days and it was only at my insistence that he let me sit vigil so he could go home and change his clothes.”

Again, you’re astonished; is it possible that your vague recollections of Pero’s voice and gentle touches while you were ill are real?

“I will say, when I asked him the same question of why, his answer was that he did not want the hard work you and I put into our happy venture to be squandered. He said he knew that would break your heart.”

It’s true, it would.

“With his experience, I know the fleet would be in good hands.”

Nodding, you have to agree.

“… and you would be in good hands.”

You look up to see your father looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You’re about to ask him about it when you hear a quiet knocking and you look over to see Pero standing in the open doorway, as if you had summoned him with your conversation.

“My apologies, I do not mean to interrupt. I thought I heard your voice and wanted to see if you were awake,” Pero looks tired, but hopeful.

The Count waves him in and gets up, whispering in your ear, “Be kind to him, dearest. The man has been in anguish and has not left your bedside for more than a few minutes these past two days.” Kissing you on the cheek, he tells you he will go and find the Duchess to give her the good news of your recovery if the doctor has not yet done so himself. After he pulls away, you notice for the first time that your room is filled with peonies, every flat surface covered with the most splendid displays in the prettiest pastel colours – your heart soars at the sight. When Pero takes your father’s place in the chair across from you, neither of you notice that the Count closes the door behind him.

“Dulce, how are you feeling,” asks Pero with as much feeling as you’ve ever heard from him.

You tell him you’re much better, and that although no one has said so explicitly, you suspect that much of your recovery is due to his diligent care and watch over you.

“It was nothing, Dulce. I was worried about you. I am glad you are okay now,” he says, relief evident in his voice.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I really don't know what I have done to deserve your kindness, Pero. And not only these past two days when I’ve taken ill, but over the entire course of this season – I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for being there for me, supporting and encouraging me, and bringing me such peace and joy so that I did not buckle under the pressure of my debut. Please allow me to do so right now. Thank you, Pero,” you look at him with adoration and admiration, pouring all your feelings out and disguising them as simple gratitude.

“It has been my absolute pleasure, truly. I am so very proud of the woman you have grown up to be: beautiful, smart, funny, and so, so very caring. You are one of kind, Dulce – and the lucky man who marries you needs to know just how special you are. There isn’t anyone else who has your vibrant spirit, your sweet disposition, your fun-loving heart. He needs to know and nurture all these wonderful qualities so that your light never goes out,” Pero espouses your virtues and merits with eyes fixed upon yours, wishing he could express just how deep his admiration truly runs.

To say you’re affected would be an understatement, and it makes you bold and brave.

“Pero, I cannot tell you how much your kind words mean to me. I have never known a man to be more genuine and earnest that you; when you say something, you mean it. I find you so very thoughtful this way. And in other ways as well – I know, for example, it must have been you who filled this room with my favourite flowers.” Pero nods indulgently and you carry on, “… and I know you purchased the shares in the fleet from my father. Thank you, Pero.”

Pero is surprised, although he had not asked the Count to keep the sale from you, he didn’t expect you to know already.

You’re looking at him with an expression he won’t let himself name, eyes soft, almost pleading, “Why would you do something so generous, Pero?”

Pero remains quiet, as if wrestling with how he wishes to answer and you wait patiently, not sure what to expect.

“The owner of the shares has custody of a great gift. The fleet is an impressive venture - it has potential to do considerable good in this world, and much of that is thanks to you and your father’s dedication and contributions – the holder of these shares cannot squander that opportunity; he needs to honour you and your father’s legacy by carrying on the good work you’ve started together. But that in and of itself is not the gift. The man who holds these shares is also given the gift of being able to take care of you, to have a small hand in ensuring a prosperous future for you and your children. I… could not take the risk that someone who did not understand the honour of this charge would hold these shares. I hope you can understand and not think it imprudent of me.”

You don’t know what to say. Pero is so generous and considerate – how could he ever think you would view his gesture as anything but deeply caring? Unsure of your silence, Pero attempts to lighten the mood, “This way, I can still be in your life. I can come to see you when I need to discuss matters of the fleet.”

“Pero, you’re my friend! You do not need to have a business pretense to see me.”

He shakes his head sadly, “You will be married, Dulce. Your husband would not like a man like me visiting his wife frequently.”

“A man like you?” you’re not sure what he means.

“A man who looks at you the way I look at you.”

You inhale sharply, hardly allowing yourself to breathe, “And how do you look at me, Pero?”

“Like you are the sun, Dulce. Like everything you touch is made brighter and better from the light of your smile and the warmth of your sweet laugh. As if under your care and attention, everything and everyone, including me, grows – stronger, brighter, better. I look at you like I dream about the graceful notes of your voice every night and wish to hear your melody of thoughts and opinions on all things. I look at you like I am hypnotized just by the sway of your hips and even the lilt of your fingers. Everyday, I’m ever more enchanted with the tilt of your head and curve of your mouth. I look at you like I could never get enough.”

“And what if I don’t want that?”

“Then I will stay away, mi reina. Anything you wish,” though crushed, Pero knows that he would do whatever you asked.

“No, Pero, you misunderstand. What if I don’t want a husband who does not want you looking at me like that? What if I want you to look at me like that? What if I do not want a husband who isn’t you?”

“Dulce…” Pero’s heart has leapt into his throat, he can hardly allow himself to believe what he’s hearing, “… you do not know what you’re saying. You would not want me for a husband.”

You smile kindly, “And why not?”

Pero looks at you so sadly it breaks your heart, “You would not wish to separate from your friends and leave England to be mistress of a lowly Barón’s estate in a foreign land where you know no one and do not speak the language. Not when you have suitors with much grander fortunes, with estates nearer to your friends, and where you and your children would grow up in the style befitting the daughter of a British Count. You would not want a husband who is never home and spends more time on the seas and in far off lands than he does on home soil; one you never see and for whom you would worry all the time, not knowing where he is or what he is doing.”

“Would you not be willing to take me with you on your travels, Pero?”

“Of course, I would,” Pero never second guesses his answer.

Heart still aflutter at Pero’s romantic declarations, you press ahead, determined. “Well. It seems then that no one would be better suited to be my husband than you! You must know me well enough to know that I do not care for grand fortunes and estates, and my dear father and now you have made sure that I will never be financially dependent on any husband. What I care for is freedom and adventure! And exploration and not being kept from the joys this life has to offer because I am a woman, or just somebody’s wife. As for my friends, I can always visit! And I am fortunate enough that the strength of our bonds is not dependent on having to see each other constantly. Honestly! This would not be the first time in my life I have gone to live in a foreign country where I do not speak the native tongue – it’s practically second nature to me now! But I can see how it would be useful to be able to fluently converse with servants and locals - I suppose I would just have to commit myself to learning Spanish. That is,” you’re suddenly embarrassed upon realizing that Pero hasn’t actually asked you to be his wife, and instead, you’re espousing all the reasons you find the match to be agreeable when he himself hasn’t expressed any desire for it, “if you would wish to have me.”

“Dulce, all I have done since the moment I laid eyes on you at the Danbury Ball is wish to have you. Do you know how hard it was for me to see you entertaining all those suitors when I was certain none of them could ever appreciate you for even half the wonderful person you are? None of them had any idea what a smar-“

You crash your lips to his, and after the initial surprise, Pero kisses you back with the fervent need that’s been building in his soul the past few months. Throwing your arms around him, you open your mouth to his just as his hands pull you flush to his chest; it’s the warmest, hungriest first kiss to have ever been kissed. Your mind having only recently caught up to your heart, and Pero’s constrained feelings finally being set free, your tongues press together over and over, spilling all the unspoken words between the both of you. On instinct you fist Pero’s shirt and pull him down with you onto the bed, Pero’s eyes darkening as he climbs on top of you, placing one knee in between your legs while keeping the other on the ground. You finally run your hands through his soft curls and it feels as incredible as you had imagined two nights ago; you both moan softly at the sensation.

“Dulce, you make the prettiest noises…”

You purr softly at Pero’s praise, leading him to groan deeper into your mouth and you feel the hand that isn’t braced on the pillow next to your head start to skate up your side, landing near your breast and tentatively drawing circles on the underside of your plush curves with its thumb. You arch into Pero’s hand to encourage him to touch you, and he responds as he always promised he would if he had the chance which is to give in to your every desire. Groping your breast and finding your nipple between his fingers, Pero rolls and pinches so expertly that you can’t help but writhe beneath him. He shifts to kiss down your neck as he continues his attentions on your peak and when his knee brushes your throbbing centre, you gasp loudly before covering your mouth with your hands. Still breathing heavily, the two of you giggle and smile stupidly at each other in the tender moment. Pressing his forehead against yours, Pero whispers, “Mi reina, we should stop, I still need to ask your father for your hand. Tomorrow, I am sure he will come here for breakfast and I will ask to speak with him after.”

Looking deep into is eyes, you nod; you know Pero’s right, though there’s a warmth radiating from your very being that wishes to invite scandal and tell him to never stop touching you, knowing by the way he’s making you feel right now that it would be worth it.

Not without regret, Pero pulls himself off of you and stands; after he helps you sit up, Pero tips your chin with his finger so you look at him squarely. A seriousness takes over his face, an expression he usually reserves for others, “Are you sure you want me, mi amor? You have so many suitors, so many options.”

Your eyes shine with sincerity and so much softness for this man that does not seem to understand just how much you love him. You vow to spend the rest of your days showing him, “There are no options when there’s you, Pero.”

You can’t help but shriek a little in laughter as Pero falls on you and crushes his lips to yours, pinning your body to your bed with his large and solid frame. Kissing you over and over, Pero punctuates his affection with barely strung together words of love - So perfect. So perfect. Can’t believe it. How. How did I get so. Damn. Lucky. Beautiful. Perfect girl.

Right before your giggles can turn into moans, a knock on your door freezes you both. The noise is quickly followed by the Duchess’ slightly amused voice, “Is everything okay? We have brought up dinner. Please let me know when it is decent for us to come in.”

Giving you one last peck on your lips before chuckling lightly, Pero pulls you up and whispers, “Tomorrow,” before going to open the door for Daphne.

The next morning you find Pero waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when you come down. Checking quickly to make sure there aren’t any lingering servants, you step off the third to last step and fling yourself into his arms. Pero catches you easily and gives you a twirl before placing you gently on your feet, then places a less gentle kiss to your lips. With a few hurried murmurings of devotion - I missed you. You look beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re mine - you break apart and head to breakfast.

When the two of you enter the dining room, you’re greeted exuberantly by your friends congratulating you on your recovery and expressing their delight that you’re well enough to rejoin them. Your father hugs you and you think you detect a knowing smile gracing his face, but you’re too soon seated with platters of food being offered and pushed towards you for you to be sure. It’s a happy occasion but also slightly awkward – you’re seated next to Pero, but you have to pretend that nothing has changed between the two of you. Trying to cheerfully chat with your father and friends, you find yourself unable to give the conversation your full attention because you trying with all your might to hold in the most wonderful news of your life, and with it, your overflowing happiness. It doesn’t help that Pero finds increasingly mischievous ways to secretly touch you throughout breakfast: foot reaching over to playfully nudge yours, gently squeezing your thigh under the table. When he purposefully brushes his hand down your arm and over yours in order to reach for the butter dish, you gasp in surprise - his touch out in the open sending a warm thrill through to your heart. In response to your friends’ concerns, you have to lie and say you may still be feeling fatigued, and Pero, ever the menace, pats your shoulder affectionately and reminds you not to overexert yourself before buttering his scone with a smirk.

After your father finishes his meal, you nervously watch Pero hastily shove his last piece of food into his mouth before asking the Viscount for use of his office, and entreats your father for a word. Finishing your own breakfast as quickly as you can without drawing suspicion, you find your way to the closed office doors and pace outside impatiently. Try as you may, you cannot make out any of what is being spoken in the office, even when you press your ear up to the door. After what feels like an eternity, the door opens and Pero exits; not the least bit surprise to find you outside, he whispers in your ear as he walks by, “Your father wishes to see you now, Dulce. Come find me afterwards. I will be upstairs writing a letter.”

The Count welcomes you into the office with open arms and you immediately fly into your father’s loving embrace. As he continues to envelope you in the warmth of his joy, he chuckles, “Well, dearest, I think your old father deserves some acknowledgement for being right.”

Pulling away from him, you look at the face that’s so much like your own, eyes crinkled in mirth and a smile big enough to rival yours, “I concede, Father - you were right. And I have never been so happy to have been wrong!”

Your father’s already expressive eyes shine with an extra brightness, “All I have ever hoped for is your happiness, my dear. Pero is a good man, like his father before him and he has given me every assurance that he will cherish and take care of you the way you deserve. I shall rest easily knowing that you will be in his capable hands… and he in yours.”

What did you ever do to deserve such a brilliant father who has given you the most wonderful life? You ponder this as you walk up the stairs after telling your father that you love him and saying goodbye for the day. You suspect you’ll never discover a satisfactory answer, but can only hope you can one day bestow the same unconditional love and support upon your own children.

You find Pero sitting at the corner desk in the drawing room where some of the Bridgertons are relaxing: Eloise and Colin reading, Francesca tinkering at the piano forte, Daphne looking over some correspondence of her own. Approaching him silently, you look over his shoulder and whisper, “Mi rey, to whom are you writing?”

Smiling at your Spanish endearment of choice, Pero responds without looking up from his task, “I am writing my king, Dulce, and asking him for his permission to marry.”

Ah right, you consider that the Count could very well be penning a similar letter to the queen at this same moment, “What happens if he refuses, Pero?”

“Then I abscond with my new bride and we live like pirates on the run,” smiles Pero, still not looking up.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you grin.

Pero finally sets his soft gaze upon you, “Nothing can be so bad if you are by my side, mi reina.”

He looks at you with such devotion and affection, you can’t help yourself - you cup his perfect face in your hands and bend down to kiss him. Pero returns your soft, gentle kisses with his own, nothing urgent, nothing hurried – just a moment of tenderness that couldn’t have been restrained.

You don’t break apart even when you hear the successive gasps of your friends or even when Colin cheers, unable to part from Pero’s lips even a moment sooner than you need to. When the two of your finally look up, it’s to the sight of the Duchess standing with her hands on her hips and a beaming smile on her face, “Do you two have something to tell us?”

You and Pero attend all of the remaining season events as a happily engaged couple. Pero, no longer scowling all by his lonesome against the wall, but standing tall and proud next to you; his hand laced through yours or comforting and firm on your lower back as the two of you receive congratulations from the ton. He drinks in the jealous looks from your former suitors and inwardly chuckles a little at the conceding grumbles from the mamas who proclaim with surprise that they didn’t know he had been looking for a wife. His stoic countenance cracking just a little at their poorly concealed scandalized faces when he replies that he hadn’t been. For your part, you don’t notice any of this; you only have eyes and ears for Pero. Your face hurts from smiling so much – it’s all you can do to tear your eyes away from your handsome fiancé in order to respond politely to the questions you receive from curious members of the ton.

You still dance every dance, floating on air as you traverse the floor in the strong arms of your dashing Spaniard; now that there is no danger of some other man whisking you away from him for the next dance, Pero quite enjoys the dance floor. He holds you closer than he probably should, chests touching and faces so close that the gentle fan of your breath curls over his lips; his hands find themselves placed low on your back during the waltz, dipping scandalously close to where he really wants them to be, itching to squeeze the plush globes of your ass. If anyone was to make a comment to you about it, you would giggle and simply say that your fiancé is a passionate man.

And he is. A passionate man, that is. Under his grave and steely visage, Pero is a man who yearns for and craves the woman he loves, hungry for you at all times. Such a man is not made of infinite restraint - the limits of Pero’s self control having already been sorely tested for the past few months. As such, whenever an opportunity to escape the rigid formality of these events would arise, Pero wasted no time whisking you away for himself.

At the Grand Picnic, he steals you away to a secluded spot in the gardens where he proceeds to kiss you so fervently and passionately that you actually get dizzy. He presses you against the base of some winged sculpture and hungrily licks and sucks down your neck, all while you cover your mouth with your hands, hoping against hope to contain your moans and soft whimpers. The stone angel watches from its perch as Pero trails his mouth down past your collar towards the swell of your breasts, already rapidly rising and falling. Pressing feather light kisses to the tops of your breasts, Pero drinks in your breathy giggles when his scruff tickles you, before diving in devilishly, lapping at your ample curves and the valley in between. As you start to pant from arousal, Pero finds himself most ardently wishing that your tits would break free of their fine silk confines and spill into his mouth.

A la mierda, he thinks and glides his tongue into the sliver of space between your dress and skin, dragging it across your chest until he hits your hardened nipple; having found his prize, Pero dives in, straining with his tongue to stroke your peak harder and faster. When he leverages enough space with his chin to wedge in between your soft skin and the fabric of your dress, Pero takes your breast into his mouth and sucks while groping your other breast with his hand, finding the twin nipple already straining against your gown, aching to be played with. The combined sensation has you grabbing at Pero’s hair and pressing him closer to you; with your hands now otherwise occupied, your gasps and moans spill unfiltered from your open mouth. The obscene sounds Pero pulls from you must start to carry, because soon you hear voices getting nearer to where you and Pero have now frozen, his mouth buried in your chest; he places one last chaste kiss to tops of each of your breasts before the two of you giggle and run hand-in-hand out of the gardens.

At the Opera, Pero secures a box on the second mezzanine for the two of you. With most of the ton preferring the orchestra seats or boxes closer to the stage, you find yourselves alone in the secluded alcove nearer to the house balcony. Once the lights dim and the overture starts, Pero takes your hand in his and you lean on his shoulder, relaxing into his closeness. By the time the audience is enjoying the soprano’s heart-breaking aria in the third act, Pero has his left arm thrown around you and the knuckles of his right hand are ghosting over the front of your panties where he finds them already damp from want.

“Keep your eyes on the stage, Dulce,” he whispers in your ear as his thumb draws slow circles over your clit. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out, trying with all your might not to let your whole body react to Pero’s teasing lest it draws the attention of the opera house attendees sitting on the balcony or in the boxes on the opposite side of the hall.

Pero is patient. And thorough. He takes an inordinate time exploring the shape of your pussy - running his thumb then fingers over the outline of your slit and the hardening form of your clit, eventually cupping your mound and letting you grind down on his palm to give you some of the friction you so desperately seek. He toys with you over the fabric of your underwear for the remainder of the 3rd act until your panties are completely soaked through. Only once the 4th act is underway does he slip his hand down the front of your underwear and start to run his forefinger through your folds.

“Pero…” you sigh, spreading your legs wider to allow him more freedom of movement.

“Doing so good for me, mi amor,” he whispers back, continuing his smooth, teasing strokes, dragging your sticky arousal through the valleys of your seam and trailing it up to your clit, spreading it over and around your bundle of nerves before returning his fingers to your wet core. He repeats this over and over, alternating the speed and pressure of his fingers, never letting you settle into a complacent state. Quite the opposite – you feel like your body is on fire.

Willing yourself to breathe through your nose as evenly as you can, you focus on the soprano’s finale song before the ensemble gathers for the finale; just as the singer hits the high notes of her solo with a warm vibrato, Pero pushes a finger straight into your heat and you whine in harmony with her. Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of your tight hole, nearly losing control with the way you clench as he drags along your warm warms; Pero feels you hum around him as pleasure you’ve never felt before radiates throughout your entire body. The squelching sound of Pero working your cunt are thankfully masked by the musical drama unfolding on the stage, and Pero uses the opportunity to ask you if you’re ready for another.

Seeing you nod as subtly as you can, Pero murmurs, “Good girl,” before adding a second finger to join the first. Oh. You’re so full. It’s a stretch, but the sting pairs perfectly with the devastating pleasure now coursing through your veins as Pero slowly drives his fingers into you. Staying with a slower pace until you start dripping down his wrist, Pero’s fingers now start to thrust faster, keeping tempo with the musical build that the ton in the orchestra is enjoying, clueless to your lascivious activities above them.

When Pero presses his thumb to your slippery clit, you surge forward and grab onto the balcony banister for stability, nearly in danger of drawing the attention of unwanted eyes. Refusing to ease up in his efforts on your cunt, Pero continues to push you closer and closer to your high, his fingers never faltering from their punishing pace until you come and cry out in tune with the finale’s final chorus. While the rest of the audience applauses when the curtain falls, Pero’s praise is only for you - purring that you did so good for him and kissing you gently as his slips his slick covered hand back into his glove.

At the Hastings Ball, you’re the one feeling bold. Having arrived at your friend’s estate a week prior to help the Duchess with preparations, you familiarize yourself with the grounds and all the intimate, secret corners perfect for intimate, secret things. Once all the guests have arrived and the festivities have begun in earnest, you sneak off with your fiancé, leading him down a hidden staircase into the Duke’s impressive wine cellar. With all of tonight’s refreshments having already been pulled from inventory, you know no one will be coming down here during the ball; you’re free to touch, feel and love on Pero in all the ways you desire. Once Pero realizes the amount of privacy you’ve been afforded, he’s like a dog unleashed, stalking and cornering you into a wall with a growl, sniping at your neck with his teeth and lips, pawing at your soft curves already on display for him in your pretty ballgown.

Here in the cellar, while you still cannot be loud, but you don’t have to be quiet – the cavernous room echos your quiet moans and Pero’s deep grunts like a soundtrack of pleasure that’s percussed by heavy breathing as the two of you drown in one another. Lips attached to yours, but eyes kept open to take in your lustful expression, Pero spies an unopened crate out of the corner of his eye and smiles against your mouth, “Come here, Dulce. Let me show you something.”

After letting him lead you to the crate, you allow Pero to help you on top before scooting you back so your legs no longer dangle over the edge. Grinning, you ask playfully, “What, pray tell, do you wish to show me, Barón?”

“Want to show you how I’m going to make my pretty wife feel good every day we are married,” Pero looks at you, eyes dark, as his starts to ruffle up the many layers of your dress. You giggle as his pushes through the yards of fabric with a feigned annoyance, bunching it up for you to hold against your chest like an overstuffed pillow. Once Pero is satisfied with his unfettered access, he gently pushes you to lean back on your elbows, hands still laid prettily on your pillow of dress skirts, eyes watching your handsome fiancé’s movements. Pero leans over the edge of the crate and rubs your silk stocking covered calves with his big firm hands as he starts kissing up your leg starting from where your stockings end mid thigh. Every kiss he leaves on your skin gives you a shiver as the cool cellar air hits the imprint his lips leaves behind; then, as he gets closer to your heat, he starts to open mouth kiss where you’re the most sensitive, dragging his tongue back and forth over these tender spot and leading you to throw you head back and close your eyes in heady desire. When he repeats this fog inducing pattern on the inside of your other thigh, you start begging, “Pero, please… please, my Lord, ple-pl-please!”

Nipping at your sensitive flesh with his teeth, Pero smirks against your leg, “What do you need, mi reina?”

Opening your eyes, you nearly buck into his face when you see Pero’s roguish expression peeking up at you from between your wide spread legs, “Touch me please, mi rey.”

“Here?” he asks, with pretend innocence before he dives in and starts devouring your pussy over the fabric of your underwear without waiting for your answer. This feels different. So much like his fingers but even more sensual, intimate, wild. Pero mouths and nuzzles your cunt with a precision only rivalled by that of his tongue; his tongue has a mind of his own, gently prodding, exploring, reaching where his lips can’t. Pero's hands reach up your legs and hook under the band of your soaked panties and you catch him look at you before he murmurs “May I?” directly into your cunt. The vibrations of his question run through to your chest and it’s all you can do to nod quickly before you watch him pull the frilly undergarment down your legs and have them drop to the ground. Already completely wrecked, Pero takes in your glistening folds, wet and primed, and growls, “Look at this perfect pussy. And she’s all mine.”

You run one hand through his soft curls and grip his hair so he’ll look at you, smiling lazily, already unbelievably blissed out, you promise, “All yours.”

“Mine,” Pero repeats, and then he buries his face into heaven.

The sensation is overwhelming in the very best way. Pero is eating you, no, devouring you like a man starved; every press of his lips to your pussy somehow deeper and hungrier than the last, as his tongue licks every crest and wave of your core and marks them for his own. Your slick pools from you, down your backside and dampens your gown beneath you; the wet noises from Pero’s mouth against your folds echo obscenely around you and your voice cannot help but try to add in its own harmony. All of this makes you feel like a worshiped goddess about to ascend her alter and simultaneously like a wanton whore who knows that true heaven lies in the bodily pleasures of this mortal realm. Then, as Pero’s mouth closes over your clit and he starts to flick your throbbing nub with his tongue, you realize in your daze that no, what you are is something better than either of those two things: you’re the woman who is marrying Barón Pero Tovar. That’s the thought that overflows from your thumping heart and pushes you over the edge, coming on Pero’s face as you chant his name in a grateful prayer.

After the Ball, you’re positively exhausted from purposefully overdoing the socializing after returning from the wine cellar so no one would recall your long absence. Yawning, you’re giving your hair a final brush when you hear a soft clink against your bedroom window, followed shortly by another, then another.

Confused, you approach your window with slight trepidation, and upon looking out, you think at first that your tired eyes must be deceiving you. Below your window, gazing up at you, is Pero. He looks devastatingly handsome; yet to undress – Pero is still in his formal breeches, but his white shirt has been unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing his smooth, tanned skin to your admiring gaze. You might lick your lips at the sight. Giggling as you tiptoe down the stairs, you walk out onto the terrace that hangs off the sitting room directly below your bedroom, greeted by Pero’s blinding smile, “Barón, what are you doing here?”

It's an easy climb up the side of the wall to the terrace level for Pero and his long legs; once he’s standing directly in front of you, he answers, “I could not sleep without seeing you one last time, Dulce.”

Where did this man who adores you so openly and without reservation come from? You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a gleeful kiss; you adore him too, after all.

Still grinning, Pero jokes, “And as I recall, it is my turn to call upon you in the dead of night from beneath your window in order to rouse you from the comfort of your bed chamber.”

Although he has no such intent, Pero’s words immediately transport you back to the night you realized your feelings for him… and how you had left his house, devastated upon the discovery that he was not alone. Stilling in your movements, you shrink away from Pero a little; none of this goes without notice.

“Dulce, are you okay? I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply there was anything wrong with these late-night meetings, but if you prefer to go back inside, I understand.”

You shake your head to let him know you’re not upset by that, but still your expression remains slightly sad and hurt. Pero bends at the knee to meet your eye, “Mi amor?”

You’ve never lied or kept anything from Pero in all the time you’ve known him, and now that you’re his fiancé, you’re not about to start. Looking at the ground next to you, you mumble, “I’m sorry, I was just remembering the night you’re alluding to; when I interrupted you… with those two women.”

When Pero doesn’t answer, you wonder if he’s upset with you for having disturbed him that night, and you look up to meet his eye finally, trying to give him a brave smile, “Please do not be upset with me. I did not know you had company, which would have been entirely your private business, to which I know I am not entitled. But if I must be honest, I do not particularly enjoy imagining you with other women.”

Pero has to stifle a laugh; if only you understood the war that raged in his chest every time a suitor placed his hand on your waist for a dance or when you would laugh at their jokes with that twinkle in your eye he loves so much – then you would not feel as if you had to hide these feelings from him.

Stroking your jaw gently, Pero tips your face to his, “Dulce, I could never be upset with you. Firstly, you are entitled to all my business, private or not. Secondly, the women to which you refer were not there by my invitation – Lord Ridlington had sent them to my house that evening as some sort of prank. In his words, maybe if the Barón got laid, he would not be such a stick in the mud. Nothing happened with those women, I promise, mi amor. When you arrived, I was right in the middle of arranging for a carriage to take them home. And thirdly,” Pero walks you backward until your back hits the wall; he braces an arm above your head, and towering over you, grips firmly onto your waist with his other hand, “how could I ever even think of another woman when there is you? You with your pretty face, and your sweet smile, and your heavenly laugh. You with your witty quips, and your melodic voice that says the smartest things, and this gorgeous body…”

Pero’s voice trails off as he starts to kiss down your neck and his strong hands start to move up and down your sides in unison, then separating so one can reach up to massage your breast and the other down to grope your ass. Your head tips back to allow Pero more access as you melt into his touch - he’s everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses. Kissing down to your breasts, Pero finds them available to him in a way he has yet to experience, your thin night dress much flimsier than the gowns you wear during the day; he can already see your nipples poking up through the fabric, hard and inviting. Without warning, he ducks and takes one in his mouth, teasing and sucking in tandem with your loud gasps and moans.

“Oh Pero, right there, oh- nghhh, please that feels so good!” you cry out breathily. Spurned on by your praise, Pero frantically rucks up the skirts of your nightgown and slots his thigh between your legs, pulling you down to sit. The pressure and friction on your cunt sends a wave of pleasure through you, amplified and extended by Pero’s tongue and lips laving their attention on your breasts. He encourages you to rock against his thigh, using his grip on your waist to help you find an enjoyable rhythm, and once you’ve found one that catches your clit on the flex of his leg, his hands leave you to your work and travel up your body to pull down the front of your night dress, exposing your tits to the cool night air and Pero’s darkened gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, as he leans back to admire everything before him: your naked curves, your hardened peaks begging for his attention, and the sight of the woman he loves getting off by rubbing her pretty pussy all over his thigh. He thinks he’s minutes away from combusting.

Instead, he dives right into your chest, mouth and tongue licking, kissing and nibbling, hands groping, pinching and pulling all your delicious parts so that he can bring you to your second orgasm of the night. While tugging at your nipple with his teeth, he hisses low, “Were you jealous, Dulce?”

Half out of your mind from pleasure you gasp back, “Yes!”

Growling, “Good,” Pero sucks in a mouthful of your breast and kneads what he can’t fit into his mouth with his hands, panting out words when he should be taking in breaths of much needed air -

Now you know how I felt.

When some other man would touch you.

When you would smile at your suitors.

When you didn’t know I would burn the world for you.

You cry out at his confessions, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer to you still; increasing your rocking, you’re chasing your own high when your knee brushes up against something hard, something big. When it jumps at your touch, you use your knee to stroke Pero’s length with every pass of your pussy over his thigh.

Your breasts now wet from Pero’s mouth, the cool night air’s chill against your skin causes you to tighten in Pero’s arms as he continues to electrify you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his words -

Never need to be jealous ever again, Dulce.

There’s only you.

Never want anyone else.

Don’t need anyone else.

You’re my everything.

Mine.

You come to his loving and possessive declarations, singing back your own - Yours, yours, yours. Body violently seizing and shuddering, Pero holds you close as you ride out your high. As you continue to buck against him, he crests to your desperate whimpers and breathless panting – his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized by the sweet blissed out expression that he pulled from you. Finally opening your eyes, you grin lazily at the sight of your lover smiling at you, calming down from his own summit; and when you feel the dampness of his trousers against your bare knee, you giggle in pride and pull Pero back to you lips for a flutter of happy kisses. As he walks you to the door to the waiting room, you hardly give him a moment without a light peck on his lips, cheeks, neck – not sure you’ll be able to stand being apart from Pero for even a few hours of sleep.

Before he leaves you, Pero cups your face in his large hands, whispering against your lips, “I’m yours,” and you smile back and press your mouth to his before returning, “Mine.”

You marry at the end of the season in late June with the blessing of the Spanish king to do so in England. The ceremony itself is wonderful and your gown is gorgeous, but you hardly remember anything save for how handsome Pero looks waiting for you at the end of the aisle and how he and the Count both had tears in their eyes for most of the wedding. What you remember much more vividly is the fun you and your friends had when preparing for the nuptials. Days and nights filled with laughter, play fighting over flower arrangements, tearful promises to never let distance impact your friendship – you thank the Bridgertons over and over for their love and support during this season and bringing you to Pero; you can never repay them. When you board the ship to your new home, it’s not without tears as you say goodbye to your friends and father; everyone sends you off with mirroring sentiments and promises to visit soon.

If the Tovar estate servants had any concerns or misgivings about having a foreigner as mistress of the house, you soon win them over with your kind and gentle nature; your cheerful and easy-going demeanor overriding any language barrier, which with their help and your dedication, you were overcoming more and more every day. And if there were any remaining whispers, be they among the members of the Spanish court, villagers, or any one else, they were quickly quieted once the concerned party bore witness to the ferocity of your love for your husband and his obvious and complete devotion to you. The older house staff observed quite readily that they hadn’t seen the Barón smile as much as he did since he was a boy. The newer servants declared that prior to his marriage, they had not seen him smile at all.

One morning, only two months after landing in Spain, you wake to find yourself alone in bed for the first time since you and Pero got married. Deciding it unnecessary to ring for your ladies’ maid (Lucia, a delightful woman whose English was improving as much as your Spanish), you throw on a dressing robe over your night dress and pad downstairs, sure you’ll find your husband in the dining room having breakfast.

As usual, you’re right; for a few minutes you remain standing in the doorway, admiring your handsome hulk of a husband as he shovels the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth. You love the way he eats… everything - with voracity, unabashed hunger, like he can never get enough. Strolling in only when you see him push aside his empty plate in favour of a pile of letters and paperwork to begin reading, you thank the footman who had already seen you and plated you a warm breakfast, before you approach Pero’s chair. Dancing your fingers across his broad shoulders, you slide onto your husband’s lap before laying a soft morning kiss to his lips, “Buenos días, mi rey.”

“Buenos días, mi reina,” Pero kisses back, turning his full attention to you as he always does.

“Te echo de menos esta mañana (I missed you this morning),” you pout, although you’re not really upset with him in any way.

Pero smiles at you indulgently, “I thought you might like to get some extra sleep.” He nuzzles your ear and you can hear him smile, “Considered you might be tired after your activities last night, Baronesa.”

You giggle and pull him in for another kiss, your cheeks get hot just thinking about the multiple orgasms that Pero pulled from you with his talented fingers, mouth and cock; you purr back and pepper his scruff with kisses, “Very thoughtful of you, Barón.” Your eyes soften, “No me gusta despertar sin ti, Pero (I hate waking up without you, Pero).”

Pero kisses your temple, “My apologies, Dulce. How can I make it up to my pretty wife?”

You squirm in his lap; a thrill still runs through you when you hear him refer to you as his wife, and you start to plant breathy kisses to the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy.

“Already? Is my wife so insatiable?” chuckles Pero, though his voice his has dropped to that low baritone register that makes your stomach flip. You nod into his neck and start to run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging impatiently at the ones at the base of his neck.

“Déjanos por favor (leave us please),” Pero calls out politely. The servants in the dining room leave at once and close the doors, some smirking - all the servants having gotten used to their master and new mistress’ voracious appetite for one another. The younger servants were mainly amused and some even found it romantic; the older servants acting scandalized, but secretly pleased to see such a happy marriage on the estate after so long.

“Sit up here, mi amor,” Pero pulls you off his lap gently and directs you up onto the dining room table; you move his papers aside and push his flatware out of the way. Teasing him, you quip, “I thought you already had breakfast, my lord?”

“I’m ready for seconds,” growls Pero as he pulls up his chair and seats himself between your legs. Licking his lips greedily, he unties your robe and peels it open to reveal your lacey nightgown underneath. Lifting up the skirt to reveal your already wet and waiting naked cunt, he murmurs, "Delicious," before lowering himself to meet you where you already need him so desperately. Aware that you might still be sensitive from the previous night’s sex, Pero is careful with you – his licks and strokes to your folds are gentle and slow, he mouths and sucks your clit with tenderness and reverence, and when he presses two, then three fingers into your tight hole, he does so with restrained worship. It’s only when you cry out for more, more, more, that he quickens his pace and fully presses his mouth to you, tongue tangling with your sensitive bud before nibbling it between his teeth. Your moans and debauched sounds of rapture have never been restrained in this house, your house – and you come with a desperate and enchanting scream befitting the blinding pleasure now electrifying your body.

Kissing up your nightgown and planting loving open mouth kisses to your breasts before letting you taste yourself, Pero licks into your mouth and whispers, “Te amo, mi reina,” before standing back to unlace his pants.

Your mouth waters as you watch your husband free his cock; no matter how many times you’ve taken him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt, you’re still in awe of its size and the things that Pero’s length can do to you. Whenever you feel the stretch of him entering you, you always recall the first time and how gentle he was as he pushed in. When you remember the tenderness in his voice and face as he made sure you were comfortable, putting your pleasure before his – your heart always blooms with overflowing love for this man. How did you get so lucky? Pero would of course always say that he’s the lucky one, and then show you just how deep his affection for you runs by thrusting with intensity, punching that spot inside that makes you see stars, over and over – the exact way he’s doing so now. “¡Cómo te amo, Pero!” you whimper again and again, and by the way he continues to drive into you, you know he believes you. Folding himself over you so that he can bury his face into your neck and nip at the delicate spot at the base, Pero's pants and groans have you arching your back and fisting his hair just for something to hold on to lest you float away.

“I’m close, Dulce. Come with me,” Pero growls, snaking a hand between your bodies and finding your clit with ease. Drawing quick circles over your swollen nub, you feel the coil beneath your belly tighten and tighten until it snaps and you throw you head back chanting your husband’s name as you fall over the cliff. Not far behind, Pero’s pace falters before he spills into you with a long and low grunt in your ear that shoots straight to where you’re joined as one.

Weak, limp and perfectly satisfied, you let Pero pull you into a sitting position and kiss him deeply and sweetly as both of your breaths start to even, the heaving of your chests slowing in unison.

Forehead resting against yours, Pero catches your still dazed eyes and gives a small nod towards the papers that had been pushed aside and forgotten, “Dulce, I’ve been charged with accompanying His Majesty’s naval fleet to Naples, Italy. Would you join me?”

Smiling because you know he already knows the answer, you nod, “Of course, mi amor. I’ll start making the necessary arrangements today.”

Pero tilts his head, eyes soft and reassuring, “Are you okay with leaving? We will have only been home for a few short months.”

Cupping your husband’s face in your hands, you gaze adoringly into his eyes, “My home is where you are, Pero.”

Pero closes his eyes and pulls you flush against him, with him still softening inside you, you’re as close as two people can be. He tips your face to his and whispers, “You’re my home, Dulce,” and all you can do is sigh in unsurpassable happiness as he presses his lips to yours once again.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa @wintersquirrel @toobsessedsstuff @starwarslover-81 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

#pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #bridgerton au #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar smut #pero tovar series #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

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lucysarah-c · 1 year ago

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I would like you very much to talk about the girlfriend effect on Levi's fashion

The man has zero sense on it it's actually hurt

The way I squealed when I read this ask. I was like that TikTok sound of “OH MY GOODNESSI LOVE THIS QUESTION! I THINK..!”

*Deep sigh* Anon, you're absolutely right; it's time we face the truth about Levi's sense of style – it's hideous. Have you witnessed those panels of him in the Uprising arc with a T-shirt on top of a long-sleeve shirt? I mean, seriously, it's like, "You're lucky I adore you, Levi…"

Now, let's establish some basics. We can't delve into the "girlfriend effect" without first acknowledging Levi's life as a man. I hate to break it to many of us, but Levi is, indeed, a man – raised by Kenny, no less. Levi values cleanliness and practicality. To sum up Levi's approach to broad topics: cheap, pragmatic, and straightforward. The only exceptions to this rule are tea and cleaning. Levi grew up in poverty, so he won't waste a single penny on face cream, even if you harass him. As an example, there's a "game" that was only available, I believe, in Japan, that had side stories, and Levi literally told Erwin he wasted too much money on "pointless" stuff like hair pomade…

Levi doesn't buy much furniture, treats for his body, clothes – anything, really. I'd even venture to say he might get some of his clothes from donations. He saves his money for tea… and tea sets.

And here's where the girlfriend comes into the picture. It starts subtly; she spends a night in his personal chambers and suggests bringing in new pillows, curtains, furniture, scented candles, and bathroom appliances for her stuff. Then the full transformation happens.

Levi, pale as ever, refuses to wear sunscreen like any man would. “I'm trying to look after you!" she would insist while running her hand through his face; he's not pleased. He hates the sticky feeling, but it's just the beginning. He pretends to dislike it, but he falls asleep so easily when his face is on her legs, and she's giving him a face massage with a full face glam, mask, and gua sha.

"You have to use it like this, against the hair movement, to create volume so your hair doesn't stick to your scalp," she says, applying molding wax to his hair to give it more volume. Skincare routine? Check. Lip balms? Check. Hairstyles? Check. Personal chambers now looking comfy and homey? Double-check.

And finally, the clothes. He's against it at first, always in uniform, so why bother? But she explains how proportions and colors can make him look taller, and he's tempted to tell her he doesn't care. However, her puppy eyes beg him to wear what she chose.

The result? Levi, who once dressed like a pre-teen from the 2000s, transforms into a model. The LOOKS? He goes out with the vets for a few beers on a day off, and MPs are turning around; even Erwin is surprised. He's supposed to be the high maintenance of the group, not Levi! This transformation becomes the main giveaway that Levi is dating. Glowing skin, glass-like complexion, perfectly cut and smooth hair with ideal volume.

The cherry on top? Suddenly, he's taking days off, going out more, and knows a lot about which restaurants are "not that bad," all while dressing like a Vogue cover.

The only disadvantage? Now he has his pockets full of lip glosses, napkins, hand cream, etc. Women's clothes don't have pockets. How is he supposed to explain to the MPs when they ask for a pen, and he pulls out a pink, glittery lip gloss from his pocket? Not everything is an upside.

I ADORED this question! I hope the answer is somehow what you had in mind! Thank you so so much for sending this.

I hope you and your loved ones are doing great today and stay safe!

Lots of love!

Tags!: @nmlkys @jimoonbeau @fictiondrunk @notgoodforlife @nube55 @justkon @i-literally-cant-with-this @darkstarlight82 @thoreeo @quillinhand @humanitys-strongest-bamf Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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hashbrowne08 · 26 days ago

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Oh dam I forgot to update, I finished it, it was AMAZING, I've wanted to try some of her other novels but weren't hooked like I was for the first move, Amy recommendations?

It's late at night for me and I'm reading a book so let me scream on tumblr for a second

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHAT THE. HELL WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU KIDDING ME I HATE THIS SO MUCH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Good to get that out of my system, let me explain

I'm reading a book, and it's reaching a dramatic climax and it's a romance novel and it's even going to have the trope of like the party at the end of the book BUT HERES THE PROBLEM

There is still a lot of book left, which means only one of two things, either misunderstandings or conflict, I feel like I'm going to A: cry B: vomit C: shit myself or D: ALL OF THE FUCKING ABOVE AHHHHHH

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geminiwritten · 2 months ago

Text

this means war ; bones

fandom: star trek

pairing: bones x reader

summary: based on this song but incredibly drawn out and long winded (you're reuniting with the enterprise crew for jim's birthday almost six months after leaving for a job at the academy because of a messy breakup)

notes: hey, i'm back! life has been super busy but i was listening to this song a few months ago and decided that i had to write something for it... and then a few months and thousands of words later... here you go! it is a little bit messy, but i can't not post it. let me know what you think! please!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, sexual references (i promise i am working on writing actual smut and not this fade to black crap), and lots of words i'm sorry if it sucks

word count: 10749 (i have no self control)

The birth date of James Tiberius Kirk is either a taboo subject not to be mentioned or alluded to for the entire month of March, or an intergalactic holiday that must be celebrated for a full two weeks straight. This year, it’s a celebration. The USS Enterprise is docked at Starbase Yorktown after doubling back due to an unfortunate encounter in unfriendly space, but not even a month's setback on the starship’s five-year journey could put a damper on her captain’s birthday. In fact, the party itself was arranged in all its grandeur after the unlucky incident, seeing that shore leave provided the perfect opportunity to drink and be merry in celebration of Jim’s ageing.

So it was your best friend’s birthday celebrations that finally dragged you out of your dark and comforting office at Starfleet Academy for the first time in four months, all the way to Starbase Yorktown. It was a long journey, which you were thankful for, because despite it being almost half of a year since you left your post on the USS Enterprise, you’re still not sure if you’re ready to face her crew again. Of course you miss them, they were your closest friends long before the Enterprise’s five-year assignment, but when Starfleet made you an offer you couldn’t refuse, well... you couldn’t refuse it. Or at least, that was the story you stuck to when your friends begged you to stay. It most definitely had absolutely nothing to do with a saga of heartbreak and animosity.

“Okay, breathe,” you tell your reflection, watching the colour in your cheeks deepen the more you reminisce. The black dress you’re wearing is perfectly complimentary, accentuating all the right parts and boosting your confidence just enough to get you out the door. The hallway wasn’t too difficult, but the elevator descent awakens the anxious butterflies in your stomach, and the hotel lobby has your heartrate rising with every click of your heels against the polished marble floor.

“This is ridiculous,” you sigh, earning a few odd glances from passersby as you exit the hotel’s main doors. The artificial air outside is warm and the sky mimics a pink and orange sunset that casts long shadows on the pavement. You watch your own move as you head toward the party venue; a Federation building purpose-built for conferences and training seminars that Jim had somehow convinced someone to let him use. You often forget how respected the captain really is.

The walk isn’t long, and before you can even attempt to quell the nausea rising up from your stomach, you find yourself standing in the foyer of the building. The reception desk is empty except for a small sign atop it with an arrow pointing down the corridor, reading ‘Captain Kirk’s Birthday Extravaganza’. You have to force your feet to move in the direction of the music and chatter, despite every fibre of your being telling you to turn around.

The doors to the room are open, so you have absolutely no time to steel your nerves before the first person recognises you. A cadet from the MedBay, of course, you spent enough of your time there for every medical crew member to know who you are. His face is a mixture of confusion and delight as he calls out your name, “Y/N!”

You plaster on a smile, push your shoulders back, and walk into the party.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” the cadet, Trevor, says, “Doctor McCoy said you-” Before he can finish his sentence, another body slams into yours, knocking the breath out of you and almost knocking you clean off your feet.

You stumble back but catch yourself, suddenly wrapped in the familiar smell of wild berry scented shampoo with a ponytail full of brown hair in your face. You hug her back, fighting tears as you mumble into her hair, “Nyota.”

“I can’t believe you came!” she says as she pulls away, her own eyes glassy with moisture, “how long did it take to get here?”

“Not that long,” you shrug, “and it was nice to see the stars again.”

She frowns, “you can still see the stars from the academy.”

“Not from behind my desk, you can’t,” you say through a forced smile, trying to make your sad reality sound like a jest. You truly did hate your dark little office; the only window was facing right at a brick wall of the next building and one of the two ceiling lights had died within a month of you moving in. It was always dark, always cold, and so far from anyone else, you often felt as if you were living in an apocalyptic world.

You only catch a glimpse of Nyota’s sympathetic stare before you’re wrapped in another pair of arms. “Y/N!” Jim exclaims, right into your ear, “you’re here!”

Tears threaten to fall once again as you hug your used-to-be captain back. “I’m here,” you mutter into his shirt.

He pulls back, his blue eyes practically glowing as he takes you in, “you look incredible.”

“Thanks,” your cheeks warm, “not looking so bad yourself, Captain.”

He chuckles, “you can’t call me that anymore, remember. You’re not a part of my crew.”

You know he’s only joking, but the words still cause a small fissure in your already fragile heart. “You’re still a captain, and didn’t you promise to keep my post vacant?”

His previously easy smile falters, but only slightly. “I did, in case you change your mind,” he sighs, “but only for six months.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t hold the position longer than six months,” he puts a hand on your shoulder as if he’s giving you the worst news of your life, “if you decide to stay at the academy, I have to replace you.”

“Wait,” you frown up at him, “is that why you asked me to come, so you could tell me to officially sign off of the Enterprise?”

“No, of course not, I just-” he hesitates before sighing again, “let’s not talk about this now, okay? I invited you here because I miss you.” He pulls you back against his chest and you let yourself relax, allowing the familiarity of your best friend to soothe the fresh wave of anxiety coursing through your veins.

“Now,” as he pulls away, Nyota puts a flute of champagne in your hand, “there are a few people who would really like to see this gorgeous face.”

You roll your eyes as he slides you under one arm and walks further into the crowd. “Even though I know you’re talking about yourself,” you say, “I’ll still pretend I’m flattered.”

It doesn’t take long for the rest of your friends to realise you’re here. Sulu and Chekov are first, each wrapping you in a tight hug before Scotty appears. You didn’t expect him to be that emotional, but you find it difficult to hold back your own tears as he sniffles against your shoulder. Keenser isn’t far behind, holding another full glass for you and taking the empty one back to the bar, no doubt about to retrieve more drinks for himself and Mr. Scott.

The more you watch the grins on your friends’ faces, the more your heart aches to return to them. It feels as if you never left, aside from a few funny stories from the last couple of months that Jim reenacts for you with tipsy enthusiasm. You almost forget about the reason that nearly stopped you from being here; the reason your whole body wanted to turn and run with every inch closer you came to this place.

Almost forgot.

“Bones!” Jim exclaims, throwing his arms up and almost spilling his entire drink, “what took you so long?”

Your heart leaps into your throat, stopping your breath as fire spreads across every inch of your skin. You know your face must be glowing red, but you can’t help that, so you focus on keeping your expression calm as you try to remember how to breathe.

Leonard hesitates, his eyes lingering on you before he clears his throat and turns to Jim. “Sorry, medical emergency.”

Jim scoffs, “I can tell when you’re lying. You’re a very bad liar.”

Leonard takes the drink Sulu offers him and clinks it against Jim’s outstretched glass, “well, we can’t all be talented liars,” he glances quickly at you before turning back to the captain. “Happy birthday.”

His words punch you right in the chest, and you’re sure you can feel another piece of your heart break, but you can’t let it show. You tip the rest of your drink to your lips, sculling almost a full glass of champagne while the others take turns greeting Leonard. When you lower your empty glass, the group is standing in awkward silence, each of them watching either you or the doctor to see who will draw their weapon first.

You take a deep breath before meeting his eyes, offering a tight smile, “it’s nice to see you here.”

“Impolite would only be beneath us,” he remarks, before finishing his own drink in one gulp.

“It’s been what? Like, half a year,” you can barely hear your own words over the thrum of your heartbeat.

He considers you for a moment, his gaze tracing up and down your body before he response, “like nothing ever happened between us.”

Once again, your choke on your breath, his words not only hurting you but throwing fuel on the little flame of anger growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Another round?” Sulu asks suddenly, snatching the empty glass from your hand.

Chekov nods enthusiastically, “I will help you.”

As the two of them walk toward the bar, Scotty and Keenser shuffle away and strike up their own conversation, and Nyota mumbles something about Spock before disappearing into the crowd. You’re left with only Jim and Leonard.

“So,” you clear your throat, “how have you been?”

Like he said, impolite would be beneath you, and you can't let him know how much he hurt you. Even though, if he asked, you would tell him anything he wanted to hear because you can’t help the way you still feel about him. The way you know you’ll always feel about him, even if you’ll never know what actually happened between the two of you.

- 6 months & 2 weeks earlier -

Your boots hit the floor with force as you run down the corridor, narrowly dodging startled Enterprise crew until you reached the rear-most turbolift on the ship. Unable to contain your excitement, you continue mashing the button for the MedBay even as the lift descends, only stopping when the doors begin to open. You slip out as soon as the gap is wide enough and continue your run all the way through the MedBay toward Leonard’s office door.

You swipe your card and the door slides open, and you can’t help the way your heart leaps when you first see him. You’re not sure you will ever be used to the way he makes you feel.

“Len,” you exclaim, gasping for breath, “you won’t believe... I got it... the... the thing!”

He leans back in his desk chair, chuckling, “I gave you access to my office for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency,” you say between breaths, holding your chest with one hand while the other hits the button for the door to close.

“Are you going into cardiac arrest? Because you look like you’re going into cardiac arrest.”

You try to regulate your breathing as you give him your most unimpressed stare, “I just ran over half the ship, I’m allowed to be a little out of breath.”

He laughs again, “a little?”

“Would you stop being a smartass and let me speak,” you say as you round his desk and lean against it.

He pushes his chair back to properly look at you, a devilish grin curling his lips, telling you exactly where his mind had gone seeing you atop his desk.

“I had my meeting with the admiral,” you explain, “about the grant.”

His cheeky grin vanishes, replaced by an anticipatory frown as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees, “and?”

“They said yes.”

“They said yes?” he echoes, standing from his chair.

“They said yes!” you exclaim, jumping into his open arms and pressing your lips against his. It takes a moment for him to respond, but when he does, he kisses you back with fervour.

“You are incredible,” he mumbles against your mouth, “did you know that?”

You pull back giggling, “I know.”

“Did they have any questions?” he asks, “any conditions?”

“Nope, they loved it.”

"They loved you,” he says before kissing you again, muttering against your lips, “I love you.”

You freeze and your eyes snap open, staring up at him as his cheeks turn red. He hesitates before taking a step back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Didn’t mean it?”

“No, I-” he rubs the back of his neck, “I definitely mean it, I just don’t want you to think I expect you to feel the same way.”

You step forward to close the distance between you, “of course I love you,” you stretch onto your toes and press a kiss against his lips, “more than anything.”

His eyes darken and his hands grab your waist as he steps forward. You stumble back until your backside hits the desk, and before you realise what is happening, he lifts you onto it and positions himself between your legs. One hand stays on your waist while the other cups you jaw, “you locked the door?”

Your mind races with filthy thoughts as his thumb traces your bottom lip, and the best response you can must is a soft whisper, “not sure.”

He chuckles, “then we better hope there are no medical emergencies.”

You knew exactly how you looked as you leant against the back of the turbolift – your hair a mess, cheeks rosy, and lips swollen – but you didn’t care; you just had mind-blowing sex in your boyfriend's office. You nod politely at the two other lieutenants in the lift as you step out, unable to hold your giggles at their uneasy smiles once you turn down the hall.

Nyota was waiting for you in the mess hall, tucked into a small booth on the edge of the room with her nose almost pressed to her PADD as she scrutinised its content. You slide into the seat opposite her, “hey, sorry I’m late.”

She takes one look at you before smirking, “have fun?”

“Lots,” you reply with a grin.

She shuts off her PADD and slides it aside, “so, how did it go?”

“The sex, or?”

“You know what I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes.

You laugh before replying, “it was amazing, actually; I can’t believe how stressed I was for nothing. They listened to my whole pitch, asked all the questions that I had answers for, and then said yes.”

Although her smile is still wide, she doesn’t quite leap for joy the way you had when you ended your meeting with the admiral. You frown, “what?”

“I’m waiting for the ‘but’.”

“Who said there’s a ‘but’?”

Her smile turns sheepish, “Jim.”

"Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you sigh, “I told him to keep it to himself, because I-”

“Told them no?” she interrupts, “and you said you want to stay on the Enterprise despite their generous offer?” Her tone tells you that she already knows what you said, which was, in fact, the exact opposite of what she just said.

One tiny piece of information that you intentionally omitted when you celebrated with Leonard was that in order to win the admiral’s approval for the grant, you might have accidentally accepted a job offer back at the academy. In your defence, it was almost impossible not to say yes. You were asking some of the most senior offices in Starfleet for a huge quantity of additional resources in order to run a twelve-month biomechanical programme aboard the Enterprise. How were you supposed to know they would offer you a position at the academy? And how were you supposed to say no?

By the time you finish telling Nyota about your meeting with the admiral from start to finish the mess hall is much quieter, and you’re surprised at how late it really is when you check your communicator. There is a long, awkward pause while you wait for her to respond, and you begin to feel like a child waiting for their punishment.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Nyota sighs, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands, “you can’t just say something like that knowing you don’t mean it.”

“I know, I just freaked out.”

“Freaked out?” she echoes disapprovingly.

“Yes!” you snap, “it was awkward. What was I supposed to say?”

She rolls her eyes, “I don’t know, maybe ‘I’m flattered, but sorry’.”

“Nyota, seriously.”

“I am serious!” she exclaims, “you can’t just take something like that back.”

You sit back and cross your arms, “yes, I can.”

She mimics your body language, raising her brows, “how?”

“Jim is going to talk to him.”

She scoffs, “oh, great idea. You know everyone already thinks Jim favours you?”

“I know how it’s going to look,” you sigh, “but if it gets me out of this mess, I don’t care what anyone thinks about Jim and me.”

Her scowl softens ever so slightly, “so, you got what you wanted and now you’re just going to back out?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrug, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Your communicator chirps and buzzes on the table, breaking both of you out of the intense staring competition you hadn't realised you were in.

“You better hope so,” Nyota says as she slides out of the booth, “and pray they don’t reconsider the grant.”

You check your communicator as you reply, “it’s going to be fine, Nyota, they’ll understand.” There are no missed calls or alerts, but the time reminds you just how tired and ready for bed you are.

The two of you leave the mess hall, walking together until you come to Nyota’s quarters where she bids you a good night. You continue in the direction of your own residency, flipping open your communicator along the way and calling Leonard. You listen to the dial tone for almost a minute before giving up and deciding to wait until he calls you back. Once inside your quarters, you shed your uniform and jump in the shower, scrubbing the stress of the day off before wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel. You check your communicator to find no missed messages, so you try calling Leonard again. No luck.

After an hour of flicking through data on your PADD, you begin to worry. You try calling a third time before you realise how late it is and your panic spikes, so you slip into your shoes and shuffle out the door. The halls are empty as you make your way down to the MedBay, only to find it just as desolate with a single nightshift nurse idly sorting different bits of equipment.

Two more unanswered calls and another half-hour of walking through the quiet ship has your heart racing anxiously, but its late and there’s no one else you can call without being a nuisance and waking them up. You make your way back to your room, dragging your feet until you’re close enough to fall into your bed face first and let out a few tears before exhaustion takes over.

You barely sleep, spending most of the night half-conscious worrying about Leonard. By the time your alarm goes off, you’re already dressed and slipping into your shoes. You shut it off before rushing out the door in the direction of the MedBay, retracing your steps from last night.

Relief washes over you when you see him standing in the doorway of his office, but a new kind of worry settles like a stone in the pit of your stomach. He’s not hurt or missing, so... was he ignoring you?

“Len,” you call as you walk through the MedBay, “hey.”

The look on his face is far from familiar; his hazel eyes seem darker and the circles beneath them are a deep purple, “mornin’.”

“Where have you been?” you ask, unable to mask the worry in your voice, “I was looking for you last night. I called a few times, but you never answered, I was so worried.”

He keeps his eyes on his PADD as he turns and walks further into his office, “sorry, medical emergency.”

You follow him in, trying not to choke on the panic rising in your throat, “oh, I didn’t hear about anything. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbles, “just busy.” He refuses to look up at you, keeping his eyes trained on the device in his hands and moving as if you’re both the south ends of two opposing magnets.

“Okay,” you say, your voice even weaker than before, “well, I spoke to Jim yesterday and he said we should break out the scotch tonight. You know, have a little celebration?”

“Can’t, I’m on call.”

"You could still come and hang out,” you force a smile onto your lips, “come on, don’t make me admit that I miss you.”

He only scoffs, his attention unmoving from his PADD.

You swallow the lump in your throat, “are you sure you’re alright?”

He sighs and finally looks up, his brows knit tight and something akin to resentment behind his glare, “Jim told me.”

“Told you what?”

“About the job offer.”

The stone in your stomach grows three sizes, sending a wave of nausea through your whole body and you have to lean against the wall to steady yourself. “He wasn’t supposed to,” you mutter, “he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone because I’m not taking it.”

“I think you should.”

His words feel like a knife being plunged into your chest, knocking you breathless and turning your voice into a whisper, “what?”

“I think you should take the job,” he says.

You blink back your tears, “why?”

“It sounds like a great opportunity, and you’re young, so you should take it.”

If it weren’t for your shoulder leaning against the wall, you could almost be sure the room itself is starting to spin. You can feel your heartbeat in every inch of your skin, heat spreading like wildfire through your whole body as your heart begins to tear itself in two.

“Just so I’m clear,” your words are soft and unsteady, “you want me to take the job and leave the Enterprise?”

He nods once, opening his mouth to reply but hesitates, as if suddenly deciding not to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Only then do you realise that tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay, fine,” you say, wiping your face with the back of your hand, “I’ll take the job, and since you can’t seem to stand the sight of me, I’ll start in three weeks instead of six.”

You can barely see his face through the blur of tears, so you turn sharply toward the door and storm out, trying your best to keep your sobs muffled as you move through the ship and back to your room.

Those three weeks were the closest thing to hell that you’ve ever known. At first you were devastated, locking yourself in your room for four days straight, refusing to talk to anyone and living off half a meal a day. Everyone was worried but knew you needed space, especially after they heard you accepted the job at the academy. After the fourth day of wallowing, you got angry. You finally showered, dressed, and ate a full meal before deciding you would demand Leonard to tell you what the fuck you did wrong.

Jim said he could hear that first ‘conversation’ between you and the doctor all the way from the bridge... you were in the MedBay. You’re not sure you’ve ever yelled at someone so much, let alone someone you love, but it was like that for the rest of your time on the Enterprise. You couldn’t be amicable with one another, no matter how hard you tried.

“Y/N,” Jim nudges you with his elbow, “do you remember that?”

You blink away your daydream to find four sets of eyes on you and one pair intentionally avoiding you, “remember what?”

“When you weren’t wearing underwear and we-”

“Jim!” you smack his arm, “I thought you promised not to bring that up ever again.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder, chuckling, “I’m sorry but I have a duty to never let that story die, it has to be one of the best days of my life.”

You roll your eyes but still join in the laughter of the captain, Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty. You’re almost positive you see Leonard’s lip twitch, but he quickly lifts his glass and takes a huge gulp of beer. Once the laughter subsides, Jim squeezes you closer and sighs, “you know, it’s just not the same without you on the ship. I actually miss you, like, a lot.”

You gasp dramatically, “did James Tiberius Kirk just admit to feeling something?”

“I’m serious,” he says, “don’t you miss me?” His blue eyes are wide and pleading, tugging at your heartstrings.

“Of course I miss you,” you quickly look around your circle of friends, “I miss everyone. It wasn’t easy to leave, but I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“Aw,” Jim coos, “do you mean it? You really miss me?”

You roll your eyes again despite the smile on your face, “yes, I really mean it.”

Leonard scoffs, “are you sure about that?”

You can feel the energy shift, everyone suddenly tense as you finally look up at him, “about what?”

“That you mean it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, pulling away from under Jim’s arm.

Leonard shrugs, “sometimes people say things they don’t mean.”

“I guess,” you frown, “but why would I lie?”

“You tell me,” he replies, his expression unreadable as he takes another sip of beer.

You hesitate for a moment, the tension tangible as you scramble for words. “I’m confused,” you finally say, “Did I do something in the last twenty seconds to piss you off?”

He chuckles bitterly, “you know what? Don’t worry about it.”

The angry flame in your belly bursts into a bonfire, heating you from the inside and bordering your vision with red. “No,” you step forward ever so slightly, “you can’t just call me a liar and then tell me not to worry about it. What did I do?”

“Nothing, just forget about it. I’ll see you around,” he says, moving as if he intends to walk away.

“No!” you snap, taking another step toward him, “I won’t ‘forget about it’ either. This is not what I came here for, but if you have something to say, then say it. Or better yet, if you have something to feel, then feel it and stop pretending to be so fucking indifferent.”

He frowns, his hazel eyes full of an emotion you can’t seem to place. “Would you stop?” he murmurs, “you’re making a scene.”

Jim mumbles sarcastically behind you, “oh, how I miss the war.”

You ignore him, your glare locked on Leonard, “I’m making a scene? You’re the one that started it, but- oh wait,” you pause for dramatic effect, “that’s right; you can’t finish anything you start.”

The blow lands, because you can see the vein in his neck pulse even faster. Neither of you like to play too dirty, most of your ‘fights’ are just petty arguments, but every now and then a carefully crafted comment will remind each of you that if you wanted to, you could really hurt one another. You know Leonard isn’t proud of his divorce, and you know that bringing it up in any negative context can really get to him.

“Maybe you’re right,” his says in a low voice, “but at least I have the decency to walk away before I make a mess.”

It takes all of your self-control not to speak any louder than he did, “oh, you want to talk about making a mess?”

“No, because I’m going to leave before I say something I don’t mean.”

He turns and walks away before you can fully process what just happened. You can feel the red-hot colour of your cheeks as blood pumps through your veins twice as fast as normal, both from anger and embarrassment. Luckily, not many others noticed your little spat, and your friends had to deal with so much of that during your final weeks on the Enterprise that they’re not even phased.

You turn to Jim, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, once again wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “on the scale of Y/N versus Bones, that was like a four.”

You can’t help but giggle as he guides you toward the bar.

“It would have been a three,” you continue, “but I’ll award an extra point for the jab at his divorce.”

“Jim!” you scold, nudging his rib with your elbow.

He laughs again, louder, “what? If I have to deal with my two favourite people at war, then I’m going to make a game of it.”

You spend the rest of the night right beside Jim, trying to ignore the guilt growing bigger and uglier inside your stomach. Leonard doesn’t leave until a few hours later, having been caught by a group of his MedBay buddies who insist on fetching him drinks, and you can’t help from keeping him within your sight. You’re jealous of every single person who gets even a second of his attention or a smile directed their way, and when one of the cute young nurses leans in a little too close to him, you feel your drinks bubbling up your throat.

You decide to say goodbye mere minutes after you see the doctor walk out the door, leaving Jim to his merriment with the rest of the crew who are more than a little inebriated, though he doesn’t let you walk away until you pinkie-promise to join your friends at breakfast in the morning. That should be fun.

The walk back to your hotel feels longer than it did on the way to the party. Your feet are sore and heavy, and your stomach feels like its full of toxic waste that isn’t going to stay there for long. You didn’t even drink that much, you just can’t help feeling sick over your argument with Leonard and the way that nurse touched his arm.

You kick your shoes off the second you step into your room and wriggle out of your dress, throwing it on the floor along with everything else you can remove from your body before falling on the bed. Just as you’ve done for the past five months, you begin to play back every interaction you’ve had with Leonard since he told you to take the job at the academy, starting with the newest addition to the library from this evening. The first time you did this was the first night you spent at your cramped apartment on the academy’s campus; you thought if you dissected enough of the interaction, you might be able to figure out what went wrong. After a while you realised it had become a sort of comfort, simply remembering that Leonard did still exist and he is still out there. You often wonder if he thinks of you just as much, but you try not to feed the hope that still burns at the back of your chest, which is exactly why you’re only allowed to remember the fights and arguments. If you let your mind wander further back than that, you might not ever return to reality.

A chirp from your communicator wakes you, so you rub your eyes until you can read the cheeky message from Jim reminding you about your breakfast plans. You groan loudly as you throw the comforter back and quite literally roll out of bed. You’re not ready for another battle, but you do have unfinished business with Jim relating to your status of employment aboard the Enterprise, or lack thereof.

You hadn’t mentioned it last night because of, well, obvious reasons, but there is another factor contributing to your decision whether or not to forfeit your post as a part of Jim’s crew. Before you left, as if your boss knew this trip would tempt you to return to your friends, the academy offered you another position co-leading a brand-new programme for aspiring mechatronic engineers. It’s not necessarily your strength, but it sounds incredible, and to be amongst some of the most intelligent people in Starfleet would be nothing short of inspiring, but that meant giving up the Enterprise (and her crew) for good.

You quickly shower and change into comfortable clothes before packing most of your belongings into your duffel bag. You do have another night booked, but you’re not sure you’ll want to stay on Yorktown much longer if this morning doesn’t go well.

Unsurprisingly, Jim decided to have breakfast at the Starfleet base where most of the crew would be staying during their time on the starbase. It was just the same as the mess hall on the ship or at the academy, just a little newer with better food because most people passing through Yorktown were high-ranking or dignitaries from the Federation, and apparently, Jim Kirk was also one of those important people. The Enterprise crew were given a private buffet on the mezzanine level of the huge eating area, where two long tables were laid out with all the breakfast food you could imagine.

“I think we might have to warn Starfleet about giving the captain a big head,” Nyota says, falling into step beside you, “or soon there won’t be room for anyone else on the bridge.”

You giggle, “but if there’s no one else on the bridge, who’s going to compliment his luscious hair and his humble courage?”

She laughs too and even Spock cracks a tiny smile beside her.

“Hey Spock.”

“It is nice to see you again, Y/N,” he responds with a nod, “I regret not being able to spend more time with you last night.”

You wave your hand dismissively and continue toward the tables of food. Sulu soon joins the three of you and you chat idly while loading up plates full of food. Jim is standing at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with a coffee in one hand and using the other to animate whatever intriguing conversation he and Scotty were having. You try not to acknowledge Leonard as you approach them.

“Hey,” Nyota whispers, “we don’t have to join them.”

You shake your head, “I’m calm, I’m sure of it.”

She can’t help but snicker quietly at the comically wide smile you force across your face as you reach your group of friends.

“Good morning gorgeous,” Jim greets you as you join them, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m surprised you’re here,” you say.

He rolls his eyes, “please, I have a liver of steel.”

You can’t hold back your laughter, “is that what that was on New Year’s Eve? It was your liver of steel that made you fall off the toilet and page Len because you couldn’t feel your left butt cheek?”

You laugh a little harder as you vividly recall the state Jim had been in that night, but the laughter from the rest of the group is soft and awkward, and only then do you realise what you said. Len. Only you called him that.

Jim clears his throat before it gets too uncomfortable, “uh, anyway, have you thought about your decision?”

“Oh,” you quickly swallow the piece of pancake you put in your mouth, “right into it, then.”

He shrugs sheepishly, “I kind of have to have an answer once I’m back on duty.”

“Well,” you sigh, “then I have to tell you about something else.” You steal a glance at Leonard, noticing his cheeks a darker shade of pink than usual and you wonder if it’s because of your slip up.

You explain the offer from your boss and the programme you’d be running to the group in front of you, trying to keep your voice neutral. You don’t want to seem too resentful of the tiny apartment and dark office you currently have, but you definitely don’t want any of them to think you’re more interested in the academy’s new initiative than returning to the Enterprise.

To everyone’s surprise, Leonard is the first to speak, “it’s a good programme, I’ve heard of it.”

“You’d leave for good?” Nyota asks, “give up your position on the Enterprise?”

“And surrender from the battle,” Jim chuckles, glancing between you and Leonard with a smirk. Nyota and Spock both give him their most disapproving parent stares, and his grin disappears, “sorry, not the time.”

“Well, I was kind of hoping my friends would help me decide,” you say, looking to each of them except Leonard.

“But you know what we’re going to say,” Nyota shrugs, “we want you to come back to the Enterprise.”

“I know, but,” you look pointedly at Scotty, “you can also understand that this is a huge opportunity. I just need some advice.” You know that above the rest, Scotty is the biggest advocate for your career, and you knew he would be the most excited about the programme at the academy.

“You’re right, lassie,” he sighs, “and I’d like to say I’ve missed you the most – it’s been hell down there with just Keenser – but I could never tell you not to take this offer. You’re young, and they’ve noticed you. If you go for this now, you’ll have endless opportunities at Starfleet.”

“But you also have endless opportunities on the Enterprise,” Jim argues. “The resources for your programme only just came in and we’re in the early stages of setting it up; you could take over and lead it. It is your baby.

Your pulse quickens with excitement at the idea of running your programme, but it’s been months since you had anything to do with it. “I’d feel bad taking it over from someone else,” you say, “I couldn’t do that.”

He shakes his head, “no one has been appointed to lead it yet.”

Sulu clears his throat, “well, Captain, we do have Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy who could lead the programme aboard the Enterprise, and the offer Y/N has is huge. There are thousands in Starfleet who would kill for this opportunity. I miss her as much as anyone else, but she could assist remotely if we need her.”

Jim frowns at his lieutenant for not picking the same side of the argument.

“You’re right, Sulu,” you smile at him before countering Jim’s scowl, “Scotty and Dr. McCoy can run it. They’re the brains behind the whole thing anyway. All I did was pitch it, so really, my job is done.”

“Your job is not done,” Nyota butts in, “you have no idea how hard the last few months have been without you.”

“That’s because I haven’t been replaced, the crew is down a man.”

“You’re not replaceable,” Jim states, his brows even closer than before, “no one could-”

“I’ll stop you right there, Captain,” you interrupt, “because there are plenty of incredible people in Starfleet who could do more than simply fill my shoes.”

Jim huffs, failing to find another counter argument.

“If I may, Y/N,” Spock says, taking half a step forward, “but you are seeking advice to assist in making the decision, are you not? Though you argue only with those who advise you to return to the Enterprise, which would suggest that you have already made this decision. Unless you are simply waiting for a better reason to return, or perhaps, for the right person to ask you to,” he pauses and turns to Leonard, “Dr. McCoy?”

The air is suddenly thick with tension, everyone gaping at Spock and wondering if they might have imagined what they just heard.

“Fire in the hole,” Jim murmurs into his cup as he takes a swig of coffee.

Leonard clears his throat, “I don’t particularly care what Y/N does, so I don’t think my opinion should matter.”

Jim coughs, almost choking on his drink, “and take cover.” He pats his chest and turns to Spock, “have I introduced you to our newest cadet in the archaeological research division? He’s amazing. Nyota, Scotty, you too.”

Without so much as a hint of subtlety, everyone disperses, leaving you and Leonard alone in the corner of the huge room.

Somehow, you find enough courage to turn to him and ask, “why did you tell me to leave?”

“I’ve answered this question a hundred times,” he sighs, “it was a great job opportunity. You would have been stupid not to take it.”

“No, this time I want the truth.”

He rolls his eyes, “why do you repeatedly insist on having this conversation, knowing exactly how it's going to end?”

You can only just hear him over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears; rage and anticipation coursing through you as you stand between the doctor and the rest of the Enterprise crew. You’ve already embarrassed yourself last night, you might as well give it one last go before you make your decision.

“Because I want the real answer,” you reply, keeping your voice even, “so we’re going to keep having it until you tell me the truth.”

“Okay, you want my advice?” he says, “take the job and give up your position on the Enterprise so that I can be rid of you and this conversation for good.”

Once again, his words knock the breath from your lungs. You can almost feel the new fractures splitting your heart into even smaller pieces, but the pain moves to the back of your mind as you realise that he did just admit something that he hasn’t before.

“So…” you whisper, searching frantically for your voice, “it was about getting rid of me, not about the job.”

An array of emotions you can’t even attempt to read cross his face in less than a second before he settles on a frown, “look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. If anything, you owe me.”

“I owe you what?”

“An explanation.”

You frown too, “what for?”

“For what you said before you left!” he snaps.

You can practically feel the sets of eyes on your back multiply, more bystanders finding interest in the exchange happening at the back of the room.

“Len, we were at each other’s throats before I left,” you say, lowering your voice, “I’m sure we both said things we didn’t mean.”

You try for a second to remember something deep and personal he’d said to you in your final weeks on the ship, but nothing comes to mind. In fact, all you can remember is petty fighting and childish arguments. It was almost as if neither of you truly wanted to hurt the other, or at least, not acutely. You never brought up the deepest and darkest pieces of pain from each other’s history, knowing it would irreversibly damage the relationship between you. The closest you’ve gotten was last night when you hinted at his divorce, saying he couldn’t finish anything he started, and even then, you felt awful.

“Not that,” he mutters, "what you said after your meeting with the admiral.”

You frown again, “that I got the grant?”

“After that.”

You have to think for a minute, playing back that day in your head as you’ve done a thousand times. Only this time, you allow yourself to remember all of it, without blocking out the parts that made your heart hurt. You gasp quietly when you realise, slowly looking up at him, “y-you’re angry because I said I loved you?”

His expression is the softest you’ve seen it in months, his hazel eyes almost green behind the sadness filling them, “I’m not angry that you said it, I’m angry because you lied.”

Tears begin to blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall, “why would I lie about that?”

“Don’t bother, alright?” he says before clearing his raspy throat, “I heard you talking to Nyota.”

“When?”

“When you went to meet her, after we- you know, in my office,” his cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink.

You shake your head, as if it should help clear your thoughts, “I’m confused.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” he snaps again, though this time with a little less bite.

“Well clearly, I have no idea what is going on!” You don’t care who’s watching anymore, this is the closest you’ve ever been to actually finding out what happened.

He sighs, “You called me, by accident I guess, and I heard you. You told her that you only said it because it was awkward, that you were going to take it back because you got what you wanted, and that Jim-”

“I’ll get Jim to talk to him,” you cut him off, realisation smacking you across the face. You feel dizzy as everything hits you at once and a montage of memories rush through your head. The pieces of the puzzle you’d been trying to solve for months finally fall into place, and you finally know why Leonard broke your heart that day.

“Exactly,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You’ve spent months wondering whether it was because of the job offer itself, or because you got the grant on his behalf, but Leonard wasn’t the type to be jealous of his friends. You wondered if he simply wasn’t ready for a new relationship, or if you’d scared him when you told him you loved him, but he said it first. You even wondered, very briefly, if he’d heard some stupid rumour about you and Jim, since you knew there were some of those around, but you’d spoken about it before, even laughed about it. You never considered that the whole thing could have been one, big, stupid misunderstanding.

Leonard frowns, “You can’t seriously tell me that you had no idea what happened until now.”

“Len, I-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I really don’t want to-”

“Leonard, please,” you sigh “would you just give me five seconds.”

“You’ve had five months,” he exclaims, “and you still can’t admit it to my face?”

“Because you’re wrong,” you snap.

His frown disappears, “I’m what?”

“You don’t know what you think you know,” you say, clasping your hands over your stomach as another wave of nausea hits you.

"I heard you say it.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves coursing through your veins like an electric current. “Yes,” you begin, “I said those things, but not about you. I-It was about the job, I… when I was in the meeting with the admiral, he offered me the job before he approved the grant, and I said yes... but I didn’t mean it. It was awkward and I needed him to say yes, so I accepted, but I never wanted the job. I didn’t want to leave the Enterprise; I didn’t want to leave you. I was in love with you. Jim was going to speak to the admiral for me, say that he couldn’t let me go, the ship needed me, and I had to run the programme, but then... well, you told me to go, so I-”

“Left,” he finishes for you, his eyes glassy as his mind wanders back to that night.

Your heart is thundering so loud you can’t even hear the commotion of the people behind you over the thrum of your pulse. Neither of you dare to speak, you don’t even know what to say. Six whole months of pain and anger, all because of a misunderstanding. If Leonard had asked you about the conversation he overhead, or if you asked him what was wrong instead of just leaving... you could have avoided the worst six months of your life. You feel stupid.

“You must hate me,” he finally says, every bit of anger gone from his voice, “I’m so sorry.”

Before you can respond, he steps to the side and strides right past you. He passes easily through the groups of people enjoying their breakfast, down the stairs, and out of the building.

“Ye’re barely off the ground for six months and ye already forget how ta solder straight,” Scotty shouts from the deck below.

You put down your tools and take two steps to lean over the railing and glare down at him, “for your information, I was never very good at soldering.”

He chuckles and waves a hand, returning his attention to the open machinery in front of him, ready to remedy your errors from attempting to fix it earlier. In your defence, you weren’t usually on the tools, but you wanted to be able to join in on the practical portion of the new programme when the time came, so you agreed to a month down in the warp core with Scotty to brush up on your skills. It’s been almost a week without incident, which you considered to be a personal record. Though you’re fairly sure it has nothing to do with your skills and everything to do with not wanting to end up in the MedBay.

Jim’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and you still haven’t spoken to Leonard since that morning. After he left, you went straight to Jim and told him you’d be back aboard the Enterprise effective immediately. You quit your job at the academy – luckily you were still within the probationary period – and had all of your belongings packed and shipped to the next Federation planet that the Enterprise is due at. You’ll be picking them up in a few days, but you honestly wouldn’t be too worried if they never showed up. You’re just happy to be home; it’s as if you never left. That is, except for Leonard.

You know you have to give him space, and obviously he wants nothing to do with you right now, so you can’t force yourself upon him even if you’d settle for just friends at this point. Your heart aches in a whole new way whenever you hear his name, but you haven’t yet run into him, and you’re not sure what will happen when you do.

“Shit,” you hiss, quickly pulling away from where you’re working to watch blood drip from your hand, “of course.”

“I told Scotty that it wasn’t a good idea putting a pretty girl like you down here,” Jim says as he wanders in from the corridor.

You scowl at him, “I’ll ignore the misogyny because I’m in pain. Can you get me the first aid kit?”

He chuckles, “I don’t think a bandage is going to cut it; you need stitches.”

“I do not,” you argue, despite the blood creating a small puddle at your feet.

“Yes, you do,” he insists, “and as a bonus, you can give Bones a heart attack.”

You take a clean rag and wrap it around your hand, allowing Jim to help as you ask him, “why would I give him a heart attack?”

He shrugs, “I’m not sure he knows you’re back aboard the ship.”

“Excuse me?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since Yorktown,” he clarifies, “I made sure he was okay after breakfast, but I didn’t tell him that you’d decided to return to the Enterprise. It didn’t seem like the time.”

You’re almost positive if looks could kill, Jim would dead on the floor right now. “But he’s the Chief Medical Officer,” you stress, “he has to know everyone aboard the ship.”

“Yes,” Jim says, “and no, there are a lot of crew members.”

“He would have had to sign me back on!”

Jim can’t help but laugh again at the way your voice cracks. “He’s been sick,” he states, “since we boarded. Doctor Gronan has been standing in for him until yesterday.”

“Doctor Gronan signed me back on,” you mutter to yourself.

“Yep.”

“Then why wouldn’t you tell him?” you exclaim.

Your captain laughs once again, shrugging as he replies, “I thought it would be fun to see how long it took him to find out.”

“This isn’t a game!”

“But it is fun.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“After you get stitched up, come on,” he sighs, guiding you toward the corridor by your shoulders, “I assume you know the way?”

“I’m familiar,” you reply, dragging your feet into the bright white hallway.

“Excellent, no detours, but first, where’s Scotty?”

“Deck below,” you mumble.

“Thank you,” he gives you a cheeky wink, “now, on your way.”

Your pulse quickens with every step you take toward the MedBay, which you’re pretty sure is why the rag you’re holding begins to soak with blood. Other crew members watch you hurry through the ship with concern, and by the time you reach the MedBay, you’re trailing little red droplets across the floor. The moment Leonard looks up from his PADD, he goes paper white and his eyes practically double in size. Despite being obviously unsettled, he looks good; you could never get sick of seeing him in his uniform.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer to him in order to deter bystanders from eavesdropping.

He swallows thickly, “hi.”

Another beat of silence passes because you hold up your injured hand, “um, I’m bleeding.”

“Shit, sorry,” he finally notices the bloody rag, “come with me.”

You follow him into one of the treatment rooms and sit on the bed, legs swinging over the side as he pulls the stool and cart over to you.

“Sorry,” he says again as he arranges the equipment on the cart, “I- um, I didn’t know you were back.”

“I know, Jim thought it would be funny.”

He looks up suddenly, that familiar frown knitting his brows.

“I didn’t know,” you clarify, “I assumed you had signed me aboard and were just avoiding me.”

His frown softens and he opens his mouth to reply but hesitates, instead returning his attention to the bloody rag wrapped around your hand. He nods for you to show him, so you extend your arm and allow him to remove the make-shift bandage. You try not to wince when the material pulls on a dried bit of blood, but you can’t help your hand from twitching. Leonard’s own hand cups yours out of instinct; a comforting gesture that wouldn’t mean a thing to you from any other doctor but means everything from Leonard. He looks up at you, as if asking permission to continue touching you, waiting for you to nod before he starts cleaning the cut.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” he mutters.

Ironic... you think, though choose not to say it aloud. You nod again, “okay.”

Another few minutes pass as he finishes cleaning the cut, numbs your skin, and prepares to stitch it closed. He holds the dermal regenerator a few inches from your hand and it begins to whir softly, shooting out a blue beam that sews the skin back together. You let your eyes wander from the healing cut to where the doctor is touching you, his warm skin beneath the glove making yours tingle all the way up your arm and into your chest, waking up the butterflies that live in your rib cage. Their fluttering wings make it hard to breathe, and that familiar sense of anticipation and giddiness takes over any feelings of contempt or anger.

The regenerator stops and he looks up to meet your gaze, his pupils doubling their size, “all done.”

You flex your hand, “feels brand new.”

“Give it a minute,” he says, “keep stretching, and I’ll check it over before you go.”

You watch him pack away the cart and dispose of all the bloody gauze. His hands work fluidly, not once hesitating as his muscle memory tells them where to put each tool or piece of equipment. He pulls his gloves off and for some stupid reason your heart leaps; heat flushes through your whole body, concentrating in a tight ball just below your belly as your mind replays all the things those hands have done to you.

“Let me have a look.”

You willingly put your hand back in his, praying your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. He presses gently around the faint line where your cut had been, glancing up with each new area he pushes on to see if you wince or react at all.

“Looks good,” he lets go of you hand and rolls back on the stool, “you can go back to work, just don’t lift anything heavy and please wear gloves.”

You try to fight the sheepish grin tugging at your lips, “yes, sir.”

His cheeks flush pink and you can’t help being a little proud. He stands up, avoiding your gaze as he picks up his PADD to check off a few more things, no doubt clearing you to return to work. You slide off the bed and straighten your uniform, trying to think of something else to say so you don’t have to leave. Should you make up an illness, or is that too desperate? This is the most amicable interaction you’ve had in months; you don’t want it to end.

“I jus’ want to say,” he clears his throat, “I am really-”

“I know,” you interrupt, “and it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise.”

He frowns, “you’re not angry?”

You sigh and lean back against the bed, “well, I thought about it, at first, but then realised that I gave up on us just as quickly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me to leave, and I left,” you reply, “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t argue, I didn’t fight it, I just left.”

His frown doesn’t move, only his eyes, raking up and down your body twice before settling on your lips and turning that warmth below your belly into a full-blown bonfire.

“Besides,” you continue, your nerves forcing you to fill the silence, “if I honestly believed I'd heard my boyfriend tell someone that he regretted saying he loved me, I’d probably react the same way... or worse.”

He cracks a small smile and your heart races as if you’d just run five miles, but the light-heartedness on his face disappears just as quickly as it had come. “Ex-boyfriend,” he says.

You frown, “what?”

“You said boyfriend, you meant ‘ex-boyfriend’.”

“Oh,” you nod slowly, “well, actually, I don’t think I remember breaking up.”

He actually laughs, only a short chuckle, but it’s the best thing you’ve heard in months.

“I’m serious!” you insist, laughing despite your words, “neither of us actually said the words.”

His smile fades, and he looks back down at his PADD before you can figure out the new expression on his face, “regardless of words being said, I’m sure other things happened that-”

You cut him off, “what ‘other’ things?”

“I’m not naive,” he chuckles bitterly, “I’m sure there were plenty of Starfleet’s finest that were more than eager to meet the gorgeous new engineer.”

“Oh,” you know your cheeks are now glowing red, “thanks, I think, but- uh, no, I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

He looks up again, a mixture of confusion and something else you can’t quite place written across his face. Panic clouds your thoughts as you wonder whether he has slept with anyone in the time you were away. You hadn’t even considered it, hadn’t tortured yourself with that possibility because deep down he was still yours, it was almost as if a part of you knew it wasn’t over.

“Why not?” he asks.

You shrug, “too heartbroken.”

He drops his PADD on the nearest tabletop, sighing, “you have no idea how sorry I am.”

“Len, I told you-”

“Let me apologise,” he demands, stepping forward until his chest is an inch from your nose, “I need to apologise, because I don’t think I will ever stop hating myself for losing my one reason for existing.”

You gasp and then quickly forget how to breathe, holding the air in your lungs as if the slightest movement would wake you up from whatever wild dream you’d fallen into. You stare up at him, unblinking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hooking a finger beneath your chin.

You still can’t breathe, and your head starts to spin as he slowly closes the distance between your mouths.

“If you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his lips practically brushing yours, “just tell-”

“Shut up,” you mutter, before pushing up onto your toes and pressing your mouth against his.

His hands find your waist and your bodies snap together, like two magnets alone in their own field void of any other gravitational pull. His lips taste the same, his tongue moves exactly the way you know, and he feels like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, your mouths barely parting before his lips catch your breath again.

You step back until your bum bumps into the bed, and with the slightest effort, he lifts you onto it. His hands spread your knees, allowing him to nestle between them as his touch makes its way up your body to your neck, the heat of his skin on yours pulling the knot below your belly even tighter. You slide forward ever-so-slightly, unable to stop yourself from grinning when you feel the hardness of him rub between your legs.

He groans and tightens a hand around the front of your neck, “careful, darlin’.”

Your grin grows wider, “I missed you.”

He pulls back and his hands return to your waist. His skin is flushed and his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and red, and you’re almost convinced you’ve died and gone to heaven. “I missed you too,” he says, before pressing a gentle kiss against your lips.

“Do you two know there are cameras in here?” Jim asks, appearing at the door and startling both of you, “or do you just have some kinky preference for being watched?” His smirk stretches from one ear to the other, and he attempts to appear casual by leaning against the door frame but his bright eyes are sparkling with mischief.

“Do you watch all the surveillance footage, or do you just have some kinky preference for the MedBay?” you retort, your fingers curling into the fabric of Leonard’s shirt to keep him in place.

He doesn’t even try to turn around for obvious reasons in his pants, but throws an irritated scowl over his shoulder, “really, Jim?”

Jim chuckles, “what’s the matter, Bones?”

“You,” Leonard snaps, “you’re the matter!”

“Why can’t you turn around?” he asks, his voice laced with evil intent.

You reach for the small pillow at the top of the bed and lob it across the room at him, “would you fuck off?”

He laughs again, “no need to be so rude, I just wanted to see my two best friends!”

Leonard rolls his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening, “you’re about to see a lot more than you’ve bargained for if you don’t fuck off.”

Your stomach flips and a warm, tingly sense of anticipation spreads throughout your whole body.

“Fine,” Jim sighs, pushing off the door frame and taking a step back, “I’ll just watch the cameras.”

“Get out!” Leonard exclaims, turning around as Jim cackles and hurries away.

Leonard presses the button for the door to slide shut and another button to lock it.

“You don’t think he’s really going to watch the cameras, right?” you ask.

He returns to the space between your legs, splaying his hands across your thighs where your dress has ridden up, “probably.” His hands slide up under your dress and you instinctively straighten your spine, tilting your head back in a desperate attempt to get your mouth closer to his.

He stays just out of reach, his breath hot on your lips as he speaks, “so you better be a good girl and put on a show.”

END.

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Doubt & The Delight

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, description of physical and mental disabilities, remorse, depression, hysteria attacks, swearing, trauma, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 1 − The Knight & The Judge Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

This is the last part of this story. Thank you all for such a nice reception of this entire mini-series, it was supposed to be a oneshot, but as usual it turned out to be something more! This is probably one of my favorite works here and I can't wait to hear your opinions.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous chapters: Masterlist

_____

That night, after what had happened between them, he sobbed silently for the first time since the day of the accident in which his parents died. He didn't know what else he could do − he felt helpless and couldn't sleep, despair completely possessing his heart and mind.

Don't ever touch me again.

We are even.

He clenched his eyelids, letting the tears run down the sides of his face onto the pillow lying under his head.

Some part of him wanted to go to her door, to fall to his knees and beg her to open it for him, to let him hold her close, to fall asleep in her embrace.

He needed her so much, but he knew he had no right to demand anything from her.

She was doing more than she had to anyway.

He shuddered as he heard the sound of the door opening; stupefied by the sedatives and painkillers for a moment he had no idea where he was or who he was − he raised himself up on his elbow and hissed, feeling his head ache incredibly.

He opened his eyelids and immediately closed them, blinded by the light from the windows − he gave up with a sigh laying back on the couch, trying to calm himself down.

"Daeron?" He called out loudly, trying to remember what had happened, whether he had drunk too much alcohol the evening before or overdosed on sleeping pills.

He heard someone's footsteps and froze when he saw her frightened face; she came towards him with her eyes wide open as if looking at a ghost, stopping at a safe distance.

"− I'm just helping him change, we'll come soon − God, how pale you are, should I call the doctor again? −" She muttered clearly genuinely horrified by his condition, but he shook his head quickly.

"− did you call the police yesterday? −" He asked lowly, thinking with horror that no one at the prosecutor's office could find out that he was still struggling with his trauma and had almost caused a car crash.

She shook her head quickly, playing with the fingers of her hand in a nervous gesture.

"− n-no − the man we almost collided with wanted to do it at first, but when we got out of the car and said you'd fainted he called an ambulance and let it go − he apparently decided you'd just had some sort of attack and didn't want to add to our problems −" She replied once looking him in the eye, once looking away − he could see that she clearly wasn't coping with the situation or what had happened between them.

He sighed in relief, running his hand over his face, thinking about the fact that securing Daeron's fate was now his priority and he needed to pull himself together.

"− I'm going to go help Daeron and we'll make something for breakfast soon −" She said quickly and turned away, moving down the corridor towards his little brother's room, disappearing behind the door.

The two of them had tried not to look at each other all morning, heartbroken and horrified by what had happened between them − they both felt that their lives had slipped out of their control and he resented himself for dragging her into it all.

The doctors advised him to stay at home for a few days and rest, so he called Alys to ask her to bring him his documentation.

"− sick leave? − something happened? −" She asked concerned, and he sighed heavily, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, not having the strength for this discussion.

"− I've been overworking lately, I need to slow down − can I count on you? −" He asked matter-of-factly, hearing her snort of amusement on the other side.

"− sure − I'll be there in half an hour −" She replied calmly and hung up; he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face and put the phone down on the table top.

He glanced over his shoulder, hearing the sizzle of the pan and shuddered meeting her gaze − she lowered her eyes immediately as if caught in the act, concentrating on not burning the pancakes, Daeron wheeled around her in his wheelchair placing clean plates and cutlery beside her.

They ate breakfast together, both of them really only talking to Daeron, passing cups and juice to each other out of politeness only. He felt a pleasant shudder when his fingers touched hers, looking her straight in the eyes − her lower lip twitched a little, only a quiet, sad thank you came out of her mouth.

As they ate Daeron said he would do his own homework and then change her to look after him, as if he was now the one to take on the role of his caretaker.

As he left his Esmeralda stood up, picking up the dirty dishes from the countertop − he took his plate from her hand, swallowing hard.

"− no need, I'll do it − I'm better now, I don't want to force you to stay here any longer than necessary − thank you very much −" He said in a low voice, getting up from his seat and stepping around her, opening the dishwasher with a light movement, tossing in the cutlery and other dirty dishes she'd held earlier.

He felt her looking at him, his heart pounding like crazy, for some reason he wanted to cry again.

"− I'm sorry − for what happened yesterday −" She muttered in a whisper and he raised his shocked gaze to her, frozen still.

She stood in front of him covering her mouth with her hand, trying to silence the loud, ragged breath that shook her body along with the sob that wanted to break from her throat, tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes one after another.

God, she was remorseful.

"− no − no, stop − you didn't do anything wrong, I wanted it −" He said quickly, but she shook her head.

"− I couldn't sleep − I felt awful −" She uttered with difficulty, choking on her own tears, and despite her telling him never to touch her again he put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him in one sure movement − her body did not put up any resistance to him, her fingers tightened on his sweatshirt in a helpless gesture.

"− I-I'm sorry − I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you −" She mumbled out and burst into quiet sobs.

He thought with despair that he had broken this poor girl, brought her to a state where she felt like an abuser.

He embraced her tightly, snuggling his face into the hollow of her neck, stroking her back reassuringly − her wonderful scent and the warmth of her body had a soothing effect on him, he thought he wanted to remember this moment for a lifetime.

"− I'm the one who hurt you − I took something away from you and you tried to get it back − you asked me if I wanted it and I made it clear that I did − easy − breathe deeply − it's all right −" He whispered in a trembling voice, running his large hand through her back and hair. She snuggled into him so tightly that he felt tears under his eyelids himself − he pressed his lips together not wanting to let them flow out but it was no use.

"− thank you for everything − I'm feeling better now, I'll be fine by the time Helaena arrives − go home and get some rest − I'll think of something and explain to Daeron why you can't work for us anymore − I'll send you your pay by transfer so you never have to see me again − hm? −" He asked softly and she only nodded, her whole chest trembling in convulsion as she drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

He wanted to tell her that she was the most wonderful person he had ever met.

He wanted to tell her that if she ever needed help, she could always count on him.

He wanted to do that, but he only flinched when he heard the doorbell ring, reminding himself of Alys − they moved away looking at each other in pain, the sight of her wiping her cheeks red from tears broke his heart.

He realised that he was a monster.

As soon as he opened the gate for her, Alys walked into his house with thick folders of documents in her hands, looking elegant as usual in her jacket, long trousers and high heels. She smiled at the sight of his Esmeralda, and she pressed her lips together realising with horror that she stood dressed only in his hoodie.

"Good morning. We don't know each other yet." Alys said to her and held out her hand to her − she, not knowing what to do, herself embarrassed by the situation and how it looked shook her hand, squeezing it firmly.

"Good morning." She muttered and just threw to him that she was going to go see how Daeron was doing with his homework − Alys led her away with her eyes looking at her with a calm, curious expression on her face.

"Who is this beautiful little flower? In addition wearing your hoodie I think." She asked amused, a note of mock accusation in her voice, as if she had solved the equation. "Is it because of her that you can't concentrate lately?"

He threw her one warning, sharp look, which did not deter her, however − he sighed heavily and shook his head.

"She's Daeron's caretaker and she had to stay here to help me take care of him after I fainted yesterday. They were at a carnival ball together and she had nothing to change into." He replied coolly, wanting to end the subject quickly, frustrated.

"Is that why you both cried?" She asked lowly raising an eyebrow, the piercing look in her bright green eyes told him clearly that she felt the tension that hung in the air between them. He swallowed loudly, looking away, not wanting to look at her smile full of satisfaction.

"Thank you for bothering to come all the way out here. I'll be gone for a week, we're in touch." He replied dryly − she threw over his shoulder that if he needed her for anything he could count on her and smiled at his Esmeralda heading for the exit, saying it was a pleasure to meet her.

As the door closed behind her there was an awkward silence between them. He saw that she was wearing his hoodie and shorts that were too loose on his brother but on her they fit perfectly despite the manly cut, in her hand she held the bag with her costume.

She was leaving.

He will never see her again.

"Are you sure you can manage?" She asked uncertainly, not looking at him. She seemed pale to him, he thought that for some reason Alys' visit had saddened her, but he didn't even dare assume it might have had anything to do with him.

At most, she might have thought he was a bigger bastard and pervert than she suspected.

"Yes, we'll be fine. Thanks again." He muttered, trying not to look at her, but to poor effect, thinking only of how wonderful it was to hold her in his arms, how tightly she snuggled into him seeking refuge and comfort.

He realised that he craved such closeness from her as much as the touch of her naked body.

He wasn't just about sex.

She, however, merely nodded, raising her sad, tired, embittered gaze at him once more, and after a moment she turned and disappeared behind the door.

The hours leading up to Helaena's arrival he spent with Daeron, playing together FIFA'23 and other games that his brother thought would distract him from all the unpleasant events of the past weeks.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine. You just need to rest. It's good that you and Esmeralda have reconciled." He said clicking beside him on his pad, trying to win a race against him on the big space track. He swallowed hard, thinking with pain and shame that they hadn't reconciled at all, that they weren't even.

What she did was a desperate attempt by her to regain what he had taken from her, the feeling that she had power over her own body.

It didn't bring her any relief though − it seemed to him that it made her feel even worse.

She wasn't like him − she'd probably never behaved like this before, and she was horrified to find that she didn't recognise herself.

He had destroyed her, taken away her innocence, devoured her.

He pressed his lips together, trying to stop the burning tears that forced their way under his eyelids from flowing and grunted loudly, trying to focus on the game.

As he prepared the room where his sister was to sleep, and where his Esmeralda had previously spent the night, he noticed a purple cloth lying on the floor. He reached out and picked it up, realising after a moment that it was a scarf she had worn on her head in the form of a headband.

He pressed it to his face and closed his eyes, with a squeeze in his throat thinking that the material was permeated with her scent.

He kept it.

Helaena had arrived straight from the airport in a taxi for which she had paid crores − as soon as she stepped inside she dropped her suitcase, ran up to him and threw herself into his arms. He burst out sobbing, feeling her familiar, tender closeness.

He wasn't sure when was the last time someone had hugged him, stroked him, told him everything was going to be alright, that now he was the one being taken care of.

Taking the opportunity that Daeron was playing in his room on his laptop, they sat side by side on the living room couch to discuss what had happened.

"I think I've stopped coping. I'm slowly losing my self-control." He muttered, burying his face in his hands, feeling that he needed to at least partially throw off what was going on inside his head − he felt his sister stroking his back comfortingly.

"Me and Aegon left you alone with all of this, sinking into our own grief. We all focused on Daeron because we decided you were older and better able to handle it all." She said with pain and some kind of regret, as if she only now realised that he wasn't a fully formed adult then either.

He let the air out of his lungs, feeling like a small, clumsy child again, embarrassed that he wasn't coping, that he had chaos in his head, that he was stuck and unable to get out of the mess he had sunk all the way into.

"I thought it would be good for you to have a change. For you and Daeron to fly with me for a few weeks, get some rest, during which time we can work together to find you some sort of therapist, someone to help you get over all this." She said warmly, and he shook his head quickly, terrified of her suggestion, of having to reinvent himself somewhere, of not being in his home, of not having his things and activities.

"No, I can't do that. I need a rest, but here, at home. I do think, however, that it will do Daeron good to spend time with you, to get away from it all. Maybe when I have a bit of time to myself I can somehow…sort it all out." He muttered, feeling her worried gaze on him.

"You shouldn't be left alone."

"I haven't been alone with my thoughts for five years. I need this." He said regretfully, realising that he had devoted all his strength to his younger brother, leaving himself with nothing.

He felt empty.

"And he needs a change of environment. He sees me gloomy and tired every day. You will help me the most if you take care of him for a week or two so that I can get myself in order."

"You have to promise me that you will go to therapy. You're taking on too much on your shoulders." She said cautiously, and he nodded to her, wanting everyone to finally give him a break.

Daeron was at the same time happy about the sudden unplanned holiday, but on the other hand very worried that he was going to be left alone at home.

"But who will take care of you? Esmeralda?" He asked hesitantly, and he replied that he would manage on his own, that they would talk on the phone every day, that he just needed a bit of rest to think things over.

As they packed to leave he was with them in body, but not in thoughts which drifted far away to her, to what had happened between them.

Despite the fact that they had sex with each other twice, it was the memory of that morning in his kitchen when he held her in his embrace that he remembered most, the innocence and tenderness of that gesture, the warmth of her body, the smell of her hair, the fact that for a moment she had allowed him to get close to her.

He knew he would never see her again.

Waving them off, already seated in the taxi, watching them drive away he wondered what the point of living such a terrible person like him was.

He cleaned the whole house, sorted the papers in his office, put up the laundry and emptied the dishwasher, doing everything unhurriedly with complete silence all around him, only the sound of the wind outside the windows and the quiet pounding of raindrops against the windowsills.

He finally sat down on the sofa, staring dully ahead, before lowering his gaze to the small container of sleeping pills he'd been taking for days to get at least a few hours of sleep.

He wondered how many he'd have to swallow to not wake up.

He didn't know why his hand reached for his phone − his fingers tapped out a question on Google and, to his surprise, many different topics on forums about how to commit suicide painlessly popped up.

He read statements from some young, desperate, frightened people who couldn't cope with life and responses from others, some encouraging them to commit the act and explaining how to do it, others asking them not to do it, that they would be happy to talk to them, to support them through this difficult time.

He thought of Daeron, of how if he had done it, his little brother would have completely broken down, that it would only add to the pain of his whole family, and that Helaena would never forgive herself for leaving him alone.

That it would have been selfish of him.

On the other hand, his mind reminded him of his aggressive, merciless interrogations, the way he approached witnesses, the way he approached Alys, what he did to his Esmeralda when she recognised at once his malicious, dark nature.

How was someone like him supposed to continue to take care of Daeron? How was he supposed to pretend that he was a good man who could advise him on anything, be his authority?

He thought that his little brother should have stayed with Helaena − she was the calmest of them all, surely she would have handled his parenting much better, given him what he needed.

He reached for a small container of pills and stared at it, turning it between his fingers with a loud rattle, wondering dispassionately what he should do with himself.

He hummed as if he remembered something and slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a thin, purple folded cloth − he looked at it, feeling the need to call her.

He didn't know why he would do that when he was sure she didn't want to see him and couldn't even look at Daeron, to whom he would have to explain why she would no longer be taking care of him upon his return.

He guessed that she would only pick up out of politeness, and he would again flood her with his problems, his suicidal thoughts, forcing her to worry about him, to feel sorry for him even though he didn't deserve her sympathy.

He didn't even know when he unscrewed the container, when he tilted his head and poured its entire contents into his mouth, taking a deep sip of water after this, letting his judgment of himself run deep into his stomach.

He seemed to regain his sanity only after a moment, staring at the empty vessel wondering what he had actually done.

Oh fuck.

God, what had he done?

No, no, no, no.

He went into a complete panic, his heart started pounding like crazy − he didn't know how much time he had before he lost consciousness, so in a gesture of helplessness he dialled her number quickly, wondering if she would answer from him this time.

He thought he was pathetic, but he was scared, there was no one else to turn to − his body was shaking all over from stress and terror, his breathing quick and raspy, tears of fear in his eyes.

Biip.

"− hello? −"

He heard her uncertain voice on the other side and drew in the air loudly, shocked, swallowing hard, taking a deep breath, running his hand over his face.

"− fuck − I − I − I did something very, very stupid − I took a whole packet of sleeping pills − I don't know what came over me − oh fuck, what have I done −" He muttered in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, like a helpless child who had broken a vase and realised what his parent would do to him when they found out.

"− what? − oh God − are you home? − I'm calling the ambulance −"

"− n-no − no, fuck, they'll kick me out of the national prosecutor's office − please −"

"− go quickly to the bathroom and try to induce vomiting − give me the code to your gate, I'll be right there −"

He seemed to act in an amok, as he rose from the couch everything around him swirled − she told him to take his phone to the restroom, so he did.

He fell to his knees in front of the toilet, shoving two fingers down his throat − after several attempts he finally threw up, whooping with his tears, coughing loudly, his whole body shaking in convulsions, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

How could he do this, how could he be so selfish?

"− I'm sorry −" He mumbled, sliding slowly to the ground, feeling his mind begin to envelope in a blissful peace and quiet, her voice coming from the speaker of his phone seemed to him only a distant whisper.

He thought he would take a nap for a while, rest and when he woke up everything would be fine.

It seemed to him that minutes, hours or years might have passed when he felt someone move his body − he shuddered as someone's fingers forced their way between his lips, his numb body powerless to resist.

"− come on, please − get it out of you − God, what have you done − please, please, come on −" He heard her crying beside him, the tips of her fingers pressing against the back of his tongue, until finally his stomach convulsed with a powerful spasm, and his body threw it all out with his throaty cough of exertion.

He heard her sobs, smelled her scent, her closeness, how her hands washed his face with water, how she stroked his head as she hugged him to her breasts, mumbling in despair that he was a fool, something warm and soft enveloped them.

He fell asleep, recognising that this was what heaven must have been like.

When he woke up he felt everything around him spinning − he muttered in displeasure, another cramp squeezing his stomach.

He pulled himself up, in the dark looking for the toilet, at the last moment leaning over it and vomited again, panting loudly, everything around him blurred, it seemed to him that it was morning.

He heard movement beside him − someone's hand touched his back and stroked him with a gentle, affectionate gesture as convulsion again shook his body, which was trying with all its might to rid itself of what he had swallowed the day before.

Nothing more than a mumble left his mouth, his head drooped involuntarily − he felt someone pull him back to keep him from sliding down onto the tiles. He lay down, something soft enveloped him again.

"− it's okay − sleep −" He heard her whisper and thought that the pills he had taken were causing him to hallucinate, that he was probably dreaming it all, and since he was and she wasn't really there he could embrace her, his arm grabbed her waist, his face snuggled between her breasts again with his loud purr of contentment and exhaustion.

He felt her hands embrace him, stroking his head and back − he thought, feeling the hard floor beneath him, that they were lying in the bathroom and she must have brought the duvet and pillows from his bedroom, sleeping in that room with him.

He fell asleep and woke up hearing someone walking around his house, once in a while someone touched his head − he heard her voice asking him some questions that he was unable to focus on − she was only answered by his frustrated sounds indicating that he just wanted to sleep on.

Finally when he opened his eyes he managed to see anything − the bathroom door was open, the light in the room was off. He had a perfect view of the corridor and part of the living room lit up in the sun − he heard someone's footsteps, his heart jumped into his throat when he saw her silhouette in the doorway.

"− hey − hey, how are you feeling? −" She muttered walking up to him and kneeling beside him, her loose hair in a slight disarray, she was wearing shorts and a plain white Tshirt. He looked away from her breasts when he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra, swallowing hard.

He didn't reply, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame, remembering what he had done, how disgusting and selfish he had acted, that he had forced her to help him again despite having caused her such harm.

"− I − I would like to talk to some therapist −" He choked out with tears in his eyes, not looking at her but somewhere in front of him, his breathing shallow and uneven − it seemed to him as if his lungs had completely clenched.

"− alright − alright, I'll look for someone nearby − okay? −" She asked tentatively and he just nodded, unable to look her in the eye. He heard her get up quickly, and a moment later she was back, sitting down next to him with her phone in her hand, typing something quickly on her screen, apparently scrolling through the accounts of doctors who had offices in the same town.

"− there's a Dr Smith, he's got a free appointment in two days at one o'clock in the afternoon, or a Dr Morgan, but he… −"

"− anyone − as soon as possible −" He said dispassionately, looking blankly ahead, heard her swallow hard and click something quickly, heard his phone vibrate beside him on the floor.

"− I've booked you an appointment and sent you details via message −" She mumbled, and he nodded.

"− thank you − you can −"

"− I spoke to your sister on the phone while you were asleep and told her everything − we agreed that Daeron will stay with her and I'll watch over you until your first appointment −" She said coldly with some kind of regret from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. He pressed his lips together, feeling his body tremble and closed his eyes, wanting to just disappear.

He shuddered, looking at her in disbelief as she slipped her purple scarf out of the pocket of her tracksuit shorts, the same one he'd found on the floor and kept. She tied her hair with it, combing it into a ponytail, staring straight into his eyes.

"I found this on your couch. Did you think of me before you did it?" She asked, with soft, sure flicks of her fingers arranging her curls as she saw fit. He swallowed hard at her question, feeling a burning sense of embarrassment.

"− yes −" He sighed. She let out a quiet breath at his words, placing her hands on her thighs.

"− are you able to get up? −"

With her help he managed to rise with difficulty − he brushed his teeth feeling the still disgusting taste of vomit and acid on his tongue and then lay down on the sofa, grabbing his head. He watched her silhouetted in the kitchen as she opened the cupboards one by one until she found his first aid kit.

He saw her throw away all the packets of sleeping pills he had.

"− hey −" He threw to her wrinkling his eyebrows, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink without them.

"− you'd better not speak −" She said warningly, without giving him a single glance, so he gave in, sighing heavily and closing his eyes, figuring there was no point in arguing.

To his surprise she moved around the rooms as if this was her home, sat down next to him at the other end of the sofa with an apple in her hand and turned on the TV as if nothing had happened. He looked at her, wondering if she was really going to sit here for days, but then decided it didn't matter.

When he finally got the phone call from Helaena he listened to almost half an hour of a litany from her about how irresponsible and selfish he was, only to hear a moment later that she loved him very much and that he needed to start taking care of himself − he assured her several times that he already had an appointment with a therapist, and Esmeralda wouldn't leave his side.

"− is that what you call me? −" She asked quietly after he had hung up, looking at the TV screen on which the news had just been airing. He looked at her surprised, realising that it wasn't actually her real name after all.

"− yes −" He replied lowly, playing with his phone between his fingers.

They didn't talk much to each other apart from the usual basic politeness. After a couple of hours he felt well enough to get up − he was still dizzy and still had no appetite, but he drank plenty of water and thought with relief that the danger had passed.

Evening finally fell and, tired after all that had happened, he simply headed upstairs to his bedroom, wanting to give her some solitude and privacy.

Changing into his pyjamas, which consisted of a simple t-shirt and black tracksuit bottoms, he shuddered and looked in disbelief at the door to his room when it opened, her figure stepping inside as if nothing had happened, climbing on his bed, lying under his duvet, turning her back to him.

What?

He pressed his lips together, wondering if he should say something or not, but in the end he couldn't resist.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to sleep. I'm tired. Could you turn out the light?" She asked quietly.

He grunted and, as she requested, walked over to the switch, flicking it, complete darkness fell all around them.

The thought that she was going to sleep in the same bed with him, even if only to keep an eye on him, made him instantly hard.

He lay down at a safer distance behind her, looking at her back and neck, knowing that she could feel his breath, but not daring to touch her.

He wondered if she was punishing him this way, showing him that she was at his fingertips, but after what he had done there was nothing else he could do but watch.

It would have been enough for him if he could have just jerked off looking at her, concentrating on her scent and the fact that she was next to him, but he felt he had no right to bring himself relief after all of this.

He didn't deserve it.

That's why he was just dying in agony, writhing − without his pills despite his fatigue he could not fall asleep, on top of that he was too aroused, her closeness was driving him crazy.

"− will you stop squirming? − I can't sleep −" She muttered at last, raising herself up on her elbow, looking at him with furrowed brows.

He felt his lips part involuntarily in desire at the sight of her face, at the thought that she didn't have a bra under her shirt, that there were her lovely breasts under that material that he could caress all night.

"− sorry −" He just choked out, trying to calm his breathing, his cock pulsed painfully swollen under the material of his sweatpants.

He made big eyes and flinched, embarrassed as she pushed back the duvet that covered them both, her gaze going to his trousers and what was going on inside them.

A tense silence fell between them − he could feel his whole body quivering with desire, grief and shame.

He wondered if she would mock his state and his desperation.

"− we can do it if you want − like civilised people − I'd like to experience some sleep tonight −" She said softly and he looked at her in disbelief, the bulge in his sweatpants twitched hard at her words.

"− are you sure? − I wouldn't −"

"− make me feel good −" She said quietly.

He drew in the air loudly as she said this, grabbing the material of her t-shirt and lifting it, pulling it over her head, revealing her lovely breasts to him.

She sighed loudly when his face immediately pressed against her nipple, alternately sucking and licking it with the tip of his tongue, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her back. She moaned quietly, surprised when he pulled her to him, her palms sliding into his hair, holding him close.

They lay on their sides, embracing each other in a tight grasp. He wriggled in disbelief and delight, willing and eager to show her how much he regretted it, how much he desired her, how much he loved her − his hand grasped tentatively her other breast, kneading it with his fingers.

"− so soft −" He gasped, listening to her quiet sighs of pleasure. He felt her throw her leg against his waist, which he grasped confidently, clenching his fingers on her thigh and pulled her closer, letting her feel how much he wanted her, his manhood throbbed impatiently beneath his trousers, hitting her stomach.

"− how −" He asked between flicks of his tongue licking and sucking her hard, puffy nipple like a little child, stroking the soft skin of her hips. He slipped his hand under the material of her shorts, tracing his fingertips over her plump buttocks, wanting to be sure that this time he would do everything the way she needed it, give her pleasure and reassurance, at the pace and the way she wanted it.

She stroked his hair at his question and placed a short, warm kiss on his forehead − he murmured lowly as he felt her begin to rub against him, encouraging him to do the same, his lips letting go of her nipple with a loud plop to look at her.

"− you on top − but touch me down there first −" She whispered embarrassedly, turning onto her back, pulling his arm behind her, looking at him with a gaze hot with desire and affection.

He leaned in, letting his swollen lips brush hers, which responded immediately to his caress, her fingers cupping his neck, deepening the kiss.

"− mmm −" She hummed, squirming beneath him. He ran his hand down her body, in a tentative, unhurried motion slipping his hand under the material of her shorts, wanting to give her time to react, but she sensing this spread her thighs wider, easing his access, his fingers finally running over her swollen, hot, wet womanhood.

"− God, little one − I want to use my mouth here −" He gasped appreciatively, thinking only of the fact that he had been dreaming of this for weeks. He smiled involuntarily when he saw her nod quickly, her sweet, full lips parted in an accelerated breath.

"− okay −" She whispered quietly, letting him slide the material of her shorts and underwear off her − he marvelled at the sight of her naked body, thinking with some kind of emotion that he felt like crying.

"− so beautiful −" He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on her stomach, on her womb, on her hip, on her thigh, knee and calf. He looked at her and noticed that she was watching him intently, her breasts rising and falling in uneven breaths, her hands on either side of her head.

"− come here −" He murmured softly, in a gentle motion pushing her hips closer to him, spreading them in front of him − he heard her gasp loudly as he leaned over her bared flesh. He let his hot breath envelop her skin before his nose ran over her hot, soft womanhood, his lips lazily clinging to her folds, placing a lingering, sticky kiss on them.

He tightened his hands on her thighs when he felt her throw her head back with a sweet, surprised moan, her fingers traveling to his short hair, stroking it in impatient motion, pressing his face close to her body.

"− please −" She mumbled, and he huffed with amusement, trailing his lips up to her puffy clit, sliding then down to her leaking, swollen slit, teasing her barely, not giving her what she needed.

"− no − we're going to do this very, very slowly − with due respect to you −" He hummed contentedly, feeling some kind of pride that he could do it this way, could give it to her and be what she needed.

She whimpered softly, writhing before him, her breathing quickened and shuddered, her body trembling in his hands, thirsting for fulfilment.

"− don't be cruel −" She mumbled resentfully, as if she thought he was teasing and taunting her. He sighed quietly, placing a warm, hot kiss on her sticky skin − a surprised, loud moan escaped her lips as the tip of his tongue suddenly forced its way inside her, deeper and deeper with each stroke, imposing an intense, fast pace on her.

"− o-oh fuck, yes, lick me −" She mewled, clenching her fingers in his hair, bucking her hips against his face, trying to find a more intense source of rubbing. He smirked under his breath as he discovered after a moment between her fleshy muscles the spot he was looking for, her whines increasingly pathetic and helpless, her walls beginning to throb around his tongue.

He heard her whimper his name, her whole body tensed as if she was trying to break away from him, but he didn't stop, letting her come on his face.

He purred contentedly as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her tight entrance, determined to make sure he licked every drop and not let anything go to waste despite her cries.

He surprised her when he didn't pull away, but repeated all the steps from the beginning, slowing his pace again, merely teasing her with his lips, her body twitching at his every move, overstimulated and delicate.

"− n-no more − I want you inside me −" She mumbled softly, and he looked up at her, licking his lips with his tongue, feeling her words in his trousers.

Even though he planned to spend the whole night between her thighs, he couldn't refuse such a request.

"− it's okay − there you go −" He hummed, rising to his knees, slipping his sweatpants down just enough to release his swollen, hard erection leaking from his precum. He placed one hand next to her head, the other guiding the fat, pink head of his cock between her widely spread thighs.

"− such a good girl − hm? − my sweet little baby, am I right? −" He cooed and she nodded quickly, looking at him with big eyes hazed with desire − it seemed to him that she didn't recognise him, that she didn't believe he was the same man she had met then.

He didn't believe it himself, but it felt wonderful.

They both sighed loudly when, with one slow thrust, he opened her wide on his swollen length, leaning over her, pressing his forehead to hers, her trembling hand rising to stroke his cheek, her lips pressed to his in a warm, innocent kiss.

He murmured contentedly, forcing her to fit all of him inside her with an impatient thrust of his hips − he heard her quiet cry of discomfort and surprise and swallowed loudly feeling his manhood pulsing intensely inside her, so hungry for her closeness.

She closed his waist between her legs, crossing them over his back, and he lay on top of her, pulling his t-shirt off quickly, resting his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her, feeling her little, puffy nipples on his naked chest.

She sighed sweetly, looking up at him dreamily, trailing her fingers down his face and neck as he slipped out of her only to sink into her again a moment later with a loud click of her moisture − she was all wet and warm inside after her intense orgasm, her muscles squeezing him wonderfully from all sides.

"− that's it − just like that - it's okay −" He whispered tenderly, letting himself sink into the taste of her sticky, plump lips again, her hands trailing down his sweaty, muscled back as he involuntarily sped up his pace, pressing his nose to her cheek, slamming into her with more and more sure, brutal thrusts of his hips, groaning low along with her.

"− oh, fuck, baby −" He gasped, listening to her moans of pleasure, her insides wonderfully warm and tight, quivering all over in sensation, soaking him wet. He began to root aggressively into her weeping cunt panting hard, all around them only the loud sound of their moist, naked bodies slapping quickly against each other.

"− please − please − please −" She mumbled out looking up at him with her mouth wide open, digging her fingers into the hot skin of his back − he could feel her walls clench around him tighter, sucking him inside. He shuddered hard at her words, focusing now only on rooting again and again into her warm, fleshy interior.

"− I don't know if I'm going to let you sleep tonight − I think I'd rather do this with you instead −" He breathed out into her mouth, pushing his tongue deep into her throat − he felt her body shake as she convulsed, her hands clenched painfully hard on his body as she came a second time with sweet mewl of effort, panting loudly as if she couldn't catch her breath, her muscles began to throb greedily around his cock, sucking him inside.

He tilted his head back and sighed in relief, a few sloppy, rough thrusts prolonging the inevitable − his warm cum spilled deep inside her, a hot wave of pleasure surging through his lungs.

He crushed her with his body, feeling their bodies quivering and twitching all over, both of them panting hard as if they had run a marathon, their hands running blindly over each other's naked skin as if they wanted to calm and soothe each other.

"− I love you −" He muttered, lying with his eyes closed, his nose snuggled into her hot, soft cheek. "− you know that, don't you? −"

"− yes −" She answered him quietly, and he sighed heavily, snuggling into her like a small child.

That much was enough for him.

He didn't expect anything from her.

He just wanted her to know it.

He spent that night as if in a frenzy, holding her close, embracing her from behind tightly with his arms, their legs entwined together in disarray. He fell asleep with his face pressed against her hair, completely overwhelmed by her wonderful scent, the warmth of her naked body, one of her hands placed on his making sure he didn't let go of her soft breasts.

They hadn't said much to each other after they awoke − when he turned her face towards him and he just sank into her swollen lips in a sticky, hot kiss. She purred sleepily at this caress, her fingertips running over his jaw.

She let him take her a second time then, from behind this time − she was so wet from their shared moisture that he slid into her without much difficulty, stretching her wonderfully tight walls with a sigh of delight.

He rooted into her with lazy, slow thrusts of his hips, making sure that each time the fat head of his cock rubbed her sweet spot, one of his hands playing with her puffy, little nipple, the other sunk deep between her thighs, teasing her swollen clit.

"− do you want me to stop? −" He whispered in her ear, and she shook her head, digging her fingers into his arm with which he embraced her at the waist.

"− n-no − it feels good −" She muttered in embarrassment − he kissed her hot cheek with a sticky click of his saliva seeing her lips parted in accelerated breath, her dreamy, warm gaze.

"− so I'm afraid I'm going to fill you a second time, sweet girl −" He hummed, running the tip of his nose over her pretty face. She moaned quietly at his words, feeling him suddenly speed up, slamming into her with more confident, brutal pushes − she tilted her head back, his lips immediately pressed against her neck.

"− d-don't − don't leave marks −" She mumbled out, quickly clenching her hand in his hair − she whimpered softly as she felt his fingertips dig harder into her fleshy folds.

"− I won't, baby − shhh −" He hushed her, running his lust-swollen lips over her soft skin, feeling her weeping walls squeeze him greedily at his words, forcing him to thrust into her more aggressively, his fingers sinking into her plushy thigh, holding her in place, panting along with her.

"− ah, G-God − She babbled, responding helplessly to his movements with rocking, both of them groaning in pleasure and relief as her muscles began to clench against him in a sudden orgasm, his thighs all sticky with her wetness.

"− yes, that's it − oh baby −" He muttered, letting go, with the last of his strength thrusting into her for a moment more before his seed filled her to the brim.

He hid the tip of his nose in her hair with his eyes closed, panting loudly with pleasure, holding firmly her body trembling in fulfilment in the tight embrace of his arms.

"− can I stay inside you? −" He whispered into her ear and she only nodded, falling into slumber again a moment later.

For the first time in many years he didn't have to get up at dawn, he didn't have to focus on work, on Daeron, on anyone or anything more than himself and her.

He couldn't believe it was really happening.

He lay thinking only of the fact that he was deep inside her, that he could feel her and smell her − he placed one of his hands over her heart wanting to feel how it beat, how her chest rose and fell in calm breaths.

The days before his appointment with the psychiatrist he had spent between her thighs.

She walked around his house wearing nothing but his T-shirt and it was enough for him standing behind her to lift its fabric a little to see her lovely, plump buttocks.

"− stop − we need to eat something −" She muttered as he knelt on the kitchen tiles while she was trying to prepare dinner for them, so that he could kiss her hot, soft skin with a murmur of satisfaction. His hand slipped lower, between her thighs, his fingertips collecting her moisture mingled with his semen, a reminder of what he had been doing to her all day.

"− I adore you −" He gasped, sliding his lips lower, placing warm, sticky kisses on her thighs and calves, he heard her quiet sigh.

"− does your friend know that you have a second lover? −" She asked quietly, and he froze, quickly lifting his gaze to her, understanding immediately that she was talking about Alys.

He didn't want to make a mistake and lie, but he also didn't know how to present it so she would know that it was a done deal for him.

"− I stopped seeing her after what happened between us −" He said softly getting up from his knees, looking down at her, putting an unruly lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "− I didn't see the point in it, because all I was thinking about was you −"

He confessed with a kind of pain and weariness, and she lifted her gaze to him, her bright eyes looked at him piercingly, warm and gentle. He leaned in placing a long, drawn-out kiss on her forehead.

She snuggled into his chest as if seeking refuge, and he embraced her kissing the top of her head devotedly, running his large hands down her back in a reassuring, tender gesture.

"− I can't promise you anything −" She said at last, and he swallowed hard, knowing what she meant.

"− I know − I don't expect it −" He whispered, cuddling his face into her fragrant hair, closing his eyes, her closeness and her scent calming him in some strange, incomprehensible way.

"− I will always wait for you −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires

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gremlinmodetweeker · 5 months ago

Text

Bellowing Bull Calling Home

Please forgive me for not posting any stories in a hot minute! I've just been super busy and tired. I had a whole issue with my meds (thankfully it's been sorted out) and since I'm so angry I wrote something about König getting mad. I really like the idea of being yelled at by this man, so once I get to 500 followers, I might post some snippets of smut.

Also, I'm thinking about opening a Kofi soon. I don't make much money, but it would be a good place to post some more... Interesting drawings, so to speak. I could also take some comissions if anyone is interested. However, I'm not sure yet. I'm just floating the idea.

Anyways, enough about me! Time to read König getting mad because that's super hot.

TWs: König yelling and insulting recruits, slight allusions to degradation kink, allusions to a horrible government secret contained in a suitcase (you never learn what it is)

Wordcount: 4.1K

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Bellowing Bull Calling Home

Normally, visiting König at work was a laughable concept. A PMC base was no place for a simple civilian such as yourself, yet here you were with König’s (supposedly) very important briefcase that he’d been directed to hold close to his chest for the foreseeable future. You’d begged König to let you read them, but he had simply laughed you off and changed the locks on the briefcase again. He then politely hid it out of view to keep you from trying to break into it. You had no intentions of doing so, but apparently whatever was in there was important enough for König to go to such lengths to protect it.

Unfortunately, by hiding the suitcase to keep it out of sight and out of mind from your curious fingers, König had forgotten about it entirely when he left that morning. You wouldn’t have known were the suitcase not sat proud and regal on your humble dining room table.

Sipping your drink and leaning against the counter, you realized you had the perfect opportunity to try and hack the damned thing open. Whatever was in there had König muttering darkly under his breath and leaning away from your touch. Those accursed documents were driving a wedge into your relationship the size and depth of a canyon. Of course, you knew the case was tamper-proof. You knew that if you so much as cracked it open as much as a millimeter, it would most likely set off some sort of alarm if a proper code wasn’t punched in the top. You had the strange feeling, based on the hefty weight in your hands, that the case wouldn’t even so much as dent if you took a simple butterknife to it.

You swung it back and forth as you left the home, the weight of your relationship hanging with the suitcase in your hand. Making your way to the main gates of the base.

A soldier checked your ID before waving you through, getting another soldier to help make your way to your husband.

“So, I don’t know if he’ll be in his office right now, but we can swing by there first,” Horangi chirped as he followed behind you to a long, grey building that sat close to the entrance.

You passed through a series of doors under the judgemental stares of low-ranking officers as Horangi brought you down the linoleum floors to come to a plain wood door, its only decor being a brown and white plaque reading ‘LEICHENBERG’ in big block letters. Horangi flicked the back of his knuckles against the doors twice before rolling back onto the balls of his heels. He looked at the door expectantly, then to you, then knocked again.

“Sometimes I knock and he thinks he’s going crazy,” Horangi explained before turning back to the door, “what he doesn't know is that sometimes I’m walking by and I’ll knock on the door and leave before he can answer it. I don’t think he’s caught on yet.”

You shook your head tiredly. That would at least explain some of König’s strange tendencies as of late, at least. Friends like Horangi tended to shorten lifespans, so if König dropped dead on his next mission, at least you knew who to blame now.

Horangi pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door to step through into the minimalist office. You balked at his gall, but the way the soldier swaggered through the doorway had you thinking that Horangi was far too comfortable with pushing his way into your husband’s office.

You barely got a chance to see your wedding picture on König's desk before Horangi cleared his throat.

“Whelp, looks like he’s not here,” Horangi sighed as he turned to face you, “guess I can just hand that over to him myself, if you’d like.”

You sighed, “I was really hoping to hand this over to him personally…”

“Why?” Horangi snorted, “so you can go fuck in a closet or something?”

“No!” you gasped, “I just… I wanted to see him. I never get to see him at work so, you know... I thought this might be a good chance to see what he's like at work.”

“Well who am I to deny such a fine and noble venture?” you could hear Horangi’s shit-eating grin through his mask, “if we’re gonna track down König, we gotta use plan B.”

“Plan B?” you asked warily.

“Plan B!” Horangi cheered before sauntering over and slinging an arm over your shoulder, “looks like we’re going on a goose chase today.”

“Please not a wild one.”

“It’s gonna be a wild one.”

You groaned as Horangi’s laughter echoed off the empty walls of König’s office. It figured that the one day you had to go to König’s work he’d be squirreled away into the farthest corner of the base. He had a habit of being in the wrong spot at the wrong time, which made you all the more anxious every time he was sent on deployment. It also had a tendency to haunt you in your daily life when he returned home to your awaiting arms.

Horangi trotted down the halls, conveniently pushing you past anything he considered a bit too explicit for civilian eyes and ensuring you were in front of him to prevent you from skiving off to some derelict corner of the base.

“König usually likes to go to the gym when he’s frustrated about something,” Horangi explained as he brought you from the main building to a separate section of the base. Once inside, Horangi rounded on the help desk like a tiger on a deer.

“So, Matrice,” Horangi drawled as he leaned his chin on the heel of his hand, somehow exuding smugness through his mask and sunglasses, “you wouldn’t happen to know where ol’ Col. Leichenberg is, would you?”

“Uh…” Matrice darted her dark eyes between Horangi and you, then down to the suitcase fearfully.

“König’s my husband,” you offered.

“König has a wife?” Matrice shook her dark curls as she tapped away on her archaic keyboard, “nobody ever tells me anything around here...”

“Well maybe if you actually came to the staff parties, you might get to know us a bit better,” Horangi slyly slid the dig into the conversation with serpentine ease.

“Horangi, last time I attended a KorTac hoedown you threw up in my car,” Matrice grumbled, “I’m never gonna be your DD again.”

“I don’t remember it being that bad,” Horangi snorted, then turned and muttered, “not that I remember that much anyways…”

“And that’s why I’m not your DD anymore,” Matrice scrolled through the page a couple of times before shrugging and turning to you, “sorry ma'am, but you’re outta luck here. Maybe try checking the cafeteria? It’s nearly lunch. Big boy's gotta eat."

“König would be the first out to lunch,” you grumbled after you thanked the woman. Horangi paid no mind to your whinging and simply turned you back around to head back to the main building.

“If it makes you feel better,” Horangi offered as he firmly pushed you across the road, “I think I saw him cut down on red meat the other day.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” you rolled your eyes.

Horangi only laughed as he opened the door for you.

“I’m serious! He needs to watch what he eats!” you insisted as Horangi led you into the belly of the PMC.

“You know, sometimes I think about what your grocery budget is like, and then I think I'd rather go back to South Africa than have to pay your bills for a month,” Horangi chirped as he stopped you from missing a right turn, “watch your step.”

“You know it would be easier if you were the one in front,” you huffed as you swung down the bland corridor.

“I don’t like the thought of you being out of sight,” Horangi explained as he guided you around yet another corner, “König’s said some interesting things about you.”

“You guys talk about me?” you cast a glare over your shoulder at the tall Korean man.

“What else are we gonna talk about?” Horangi shrugged, “living on base isn’t exactly exciting. Dunno if you civvies got the memo, but there’s only so many times you can talk about special secret missions before it just gets boring.”

“Special secret missions?” you perked up.

“Cleaning duty assigned to whatever poor fucker got the shit end of the stick,” Horangi clarified.

You groaned, then complained, “Please tell me he doesn’t say bad things.”

“Not really,” Horangi replied, “but he tells me a little bit. Just the juicy bits.”

“Really?” you scoffed, “like what?”

“Did you actually forget your own birthday this year?”

You flushed, which seemed to be enough proof for Horangi to laugh at your humiliation.

“He told me you nearly had a heart attack when he told you,” Horangi snickered.

“Oh really?” the cafeteria came into view, “well has he told you he eats other people’s lunches as snacks?”

Horangi sighed, “I figured it was him. It’s not hard to guess that one.”

“Has he told you that he ate Stilleto’s cake?”

Horangi paused, “I thought he was a better man.”

“We both did,” you shook your head morosely, “but I guess she stole his evening snack or something?”

“Oh my God he didn’t try to justify it, did he?” Horangi groaned.

“I tried to explain it to him but he wouldn’t have it,” you pushed the door to the cafeteria open.

The massive room was empty save for a table of sergeants playing poker and a couple of officers sharing a coffee. The room was notably absent of any giant men with a propensity for malicious snacking. The warm and inviting smell of the room made you want to grab one of those dishwater coffees they served and kick up your feet, get a taste of the military experience, but the suitcase felt hot in your hands.

“Looks like he’s not here,” Horangi pointed out the obvious, “so maybe he’s outside training one of his teams? I hope not…”

“Why don’t we check?” you offered.

“But it’s so far…” Horangi trailed off weakly as you marched past him, “hey! Where are you going!?”

“To see König!” you called back.

Horangi rolled his eyes, but followed behind you regardless.

The outdoor training area had been split into three squads of men, each squad being led by a different officer. The first leader Horangi brought you to had looked you up and down suspiciously before promptly turning a shade of milk white when he spotted the suitcase in your arms.

“What the hell are you doing with that!?” the portly man squawked as he jabbed a finger at the offending black pleather suitcase.

“My husband forgot it before going to work,” you spoke softly, taken aback by the man’s animated reaction.

“Wh-König just left it at home?” the man’s pale skin was steadily flushing to a beet red the longer you let him sit with your answer.

“Can you show me where he is? I need to get this back to him,” you tried to calm him but he only grew steadily more upset.

“You’re telling me König left that suitcase in the hands of a damn civilian?” the man scoffed, “König’s an idiot, but he can’t be that stupid!”

“She’s probably telling the truth, Baker,” Horangi interjected.

Baker steamrolled over him with the grace of a bulldog chasing a rat, “So where the hell did you get that?”

“It was just on my kitchen ta-”

“It was on your what!?” Baker howled.

“Baker!” Horangi barked, finally making the man pause to let you breathe, “this is König’s wife.”

Baker’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped into a perfect ‘o’. He turned to you with a sheepish smile, “Sorry, ma’am, I… I should’ve put two and two together but just seeing a random civilian with that in their hands and… Well… You gotta understand, right?”

You tried to steel your nerves as you replied, “It’s alright! Don’t worry about it.”

“I really should apologize though,” Baker blundered on, “I mean if I’d only known you were König’s wife I never would’ve-”

“Baker please,” Horangi pinched his nose bridge, “cut the shit. I’m really not in the mood to listen to you kiss ass for an hour straight.”

“Understood sir,” Baker snapped his jaw shut before subtly turning to you, “please don’t mention anything to König.”

“I won’t,” you assured him kindly.

“Thank God,” Baker quietly made the sign of a cross before returning back to his platoon.

Horangi dragged you along to the next platoon, quietly ignoring Baker’s inability to direct you to König. Instead you were brought before a short man with notably thick dark eyebrows, accentuating his severe browline as he scowled at his soldiers.

“G’day Horangi 'ow are what the hell is she holding,” the man glared at you as though you were but dirt beneath his steel-toed boots.

“This is König’s wife,” Horangi cut you off before you could even start, “she’s here to deliver what he forgot at home.”

The man’s dark eyes darted from you back to Horangi, “You’re tellin’ me big boy over there forgot the damn-”

“Don’t say it,” Horangi interjected harshly, “don’t you dare.”

“She don’t know?” the man whispered.

“Not a word,” Horangi’s threat was nearly lost under the shouts of men and the screams of whistles.

The man looked unnerved, but nodded along begrudgingly.

“Right, well, you’re lookin’ for the big guy?” the man glanced between you both.

“Sure are,” Horangi nodded.

“Well yer in luck!” the man’s face lit up, “big boy’s just over there.” With that, he pointed out into the distance at one big man sitting in a navy blue folding chair whilst commanding the smallest group of soldiers, no more than a squad in number. His back was to them, but it was clear it was none other than König. If nothing else, the mask on his face in the sweltering hot sun was a dead giveaway. It was a miracle you didn’t see him earlier.

“Damn,” Horangi spat, “you really think it would be easier to find him, but he’s damn good at getting lost in a crowd.”

“When ‘e’s in that chair it’s hard to spot ‘im,” the man chuckled, “now get outta my sight with that damned thing. Gives me the heebie-jeebies just lookin’ at it.”

You glanced down at the suitcase and back at Horangi.

“You don't want to know. Seriously,” Horangi muttered as he urged you onwards.

Instead of taking in the weight of Horangi's ominous utterances, you focussed on making your way to König with a skip in your step, eager to see your beloved husband. You were so eager that you didn’t notice how he tensed up as you drew close. Just as you were about to greet him, he slowly rose from his seat with a blood-curdling howl sent straight from hell itself.

“YOU!” König bellowed like a brazen bull, “JEFFERSON, YOUNG, MANDULU! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. You had never, never, in your life ever heard König yell like that before. Sure he could curse up a wicked storm when he stunned his toe on the corner of your table, but this? This was another beast entirely. The mere thought of König yelling like this had been completely foreign to you.

“YOU USELESS ANIMALS,” König raged as he rounded in on the three cowering soldiers, “I have never, in my entire life, seen such incompetence,” König drew himself up to his full height, making even you shiver in your shoes, “and yet here you three are before me. What gives you the right to call yourself soldiers!?”

“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again,” the middle man’s voice quivered as he stepped forward for the others.

König’s laugh sounded downright demonic, “You’re apologizing for what? I haven’t even told you what you did wrong!”

You looked back at Horangi, who only threw you two thumbs up as he smartly backed away. You glared at his retreating form before König forcefully grabbed your attention.

“All three of you have been nothing but DEAD WEIGHT to the rest of your team. I’ve seen better performances from drunks moping up their own VOMIT!” König snarled as he drew close to the men, circling them like a hyena stalks its prey, “fucking Aziz is doing better than any of you. And Mandulu!” König clucked his tongue as the terracotta skinned man quivered like an aspen tree when König's voice dropped to a lull, “I expected better of you. You’re supposed to be up for promotion, yeah?" König leaned in close to scream, "DOES THIS PERFORMANCE WARRANT A GOD DAMN PROMOTION?” König’s face wasn’t even a foot from the man’s nose, leaning down and coating him with hot breaths from his draconic lungs.

The man, Mandulu, slumped as all fear left his body, totally replaced with encroaching shame. He dropped his head down, before tearfully admitting, “No sir.”

“THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” König screamed.

A part of you wanted to intervene. You felt like you were witnessing a torture session with how König rounded on this poor man, but something held you back. Maybe it was fear, but maybe, just maybe… It was arousal.

You hated to admit it, but something about watching König’s muscles bulge in his neck as his mask swayed forth when he leaned down over men who easily dwarfed you excited you. You almost wished that you were in their shoes, but watching was more than enough. He was a glorious sight, rage burning like the sun as he lorded over his men like a god. He was a mountain of a man with how he held himself up above his victims. You wished to lay before him like Prometheus, let him rip you apart with his talons.

“And you two,” König spat as he turned to the others, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON YOUR PHONES? What are you doing twenty feet off looking at the others while they work like ACTUAL FUCKING SOLDIERS.”

One meekly spluttered, “Sir we were just-”

“Just what? Laughing at Goetz?” you could see König whipping himself up into a frenzy as he hurled his next insults, “GOETZ HAD KNEE SURGERY THREE MONTHS AGO AND IS STILL HAULING YOUR USELESS ASSES ACROSS THE GODDAMN FIELD. AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PLAYING ON YOUR GODDAMN PHONES!!!”

You shuddered. If there was one thing König hated, it was soldiers on their phone during training. You gave a silent prayer for the poor men.

König stalked around them slowly, “I should have you thrown out. What would I be losing? Nothing! Not a single thing! I might actually gain something without you two dragging us down!”

The men cowered miserably. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for them, despite knowing the abuse was more than well deserved. From the sounds of it, it was a miracle König hadn’t beaten them to a pulp. Now that… That would be a sight to witness…

“ALL OF YOU,” König snapped as he finally stood to face the three men directly, “Mandulu! Give me a ten page report on all the reasons you’re still worthy of a promotion today at eighteen-hundred exactly, or you’re up for recycling. For the next half hour, you’re running laps around the yard. Maybe think how you'll structure your points, ja?” he turned to the other two, this time with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. You knew that under his mask, he was grinning from ear to ear through the fury etched into his face. “And you two!” he cackled, “give me your phones. For the next week, you’re going to be putting your phones in lock boxes. You’re going to carry those fucking boxes from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. If you’re good little boys, you’ll get your phone for an hour before lights out. Are we clear?”

“But sir, my wife-”

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GOD DAMN ABOUT YOUR WIFE,” König roared.

The man shrunk into himself like he’d been burned by the flames of König’s fury.

“You are to carry your phones in lockboxes for the next two weeks! Are we clear?” König snapped.

“Yes sir,” the two miserable whelps squeaked out before König finally relaxed.

The goliath finally stood straight before them, “All three of you! Dismissed!”

“Yes sir,” the three men saluted and slunk off miserably.

Just as Mandulu looked like he couldn’t be in any worse of a state, König called out, “And Mandulu?" the man raised his dark for eyes, "I’m disappointed.”

The poor man looked like his whole spirit had just been crushed to dust. His face crumpled in just briefly before he quickly turned his face and quietly left.

You watched the poor man leave with his tail tucked between his legs before turning to look at König. He was shaking his head slowly as he turned his back on his soldiers, all of whom were watching him for further instruction. He quietly turned to them, barked a couple of commands that had the soldiers scurrying into actions, then turned back to stare off into the distance. Incidentally, that was right at you.

“Ah!” König stiffened slightly as he locked eyes with you, “meine liebe! What are you doing here?”

“I brought this for you,” you held up the suitcase that had been weighing you down all day.

“Oh mein Gott,” König gasped as he rushed over, “ohhhhh mein Gott meine leibe I can’t believe you found this. I can’t believe I forgot oh mein Gott.”

“I figured you might need it,” you laughed as you handed the suitcase over.

“I knew I was forgetting something, but this? If one of my superiors saw me without this,” König shuddered, “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Well it’s a good thing I got it for you!” you smiled brightly before scowling, “it was really hard to find you though.”

“Oh?” König put the case down and put his hands on your shoulders, “where did you think I was?”

“Well, first Horangi took me to your office-”

“Please tell me he didn’t take you inside,” König groaned.

“He did,” you chirped, “but he did knock twice at least.”

“Well that’s something,” König grumbled, “so where did you go next?”

“We went to the cafeteria afterwards,” you placed your hands on König’s hips and shifted from side to side.

“You went to the cafeteria? Why didn’t you come here first?” König scoffed in mock offense.

“König,” you cupped his masked face in your hands, “I know you too well to not check the cafeteria second.”

König sniffed indignantly but let you continue your regales of your odyssey.

“So anyways, when you weren’t in the cafeteria, Horangi took me out here to find you! It took us a couple of tries, but we got here in the end!” you lightly kissed the inside of his wrist, making him chuckle sheepishly.

“So you saw all that?” König grimaced.

“All of it,” you told him, “I feel kinda bad for them though…”

“Ach,” König scratched the back of his head, “Jefferson and Young are fucking idiots, but Mandulu is usually one of my best. I don’t know what got into him today…”

“Maybe he’s going through a tough time?” you asked.

“I really hope not,” König winced, “if he is… Well, I can’t apologize. And if he were out on the fields it wouldn’t matter, so this is a good experience. Still,” König paused as he looked off to where Mandulu left, “I hope tomorrow is better.”

“Can't you go easy on him?” you asked hopefully.

“It’s because I like him that I have to be harder,” König patted your head lovingly, “if I’m soft, he’ll never be what he wants to be. If I’m hard on him, he might get to my rank in a couple of years.”

“That fast!” you whistled, “he must really be something special.”

“I was the one who put him up for promotion,” König brought his hands back to his hils, “but… You weren’t upset by any of that, were you?”

“Not really,” you shook your head, “if anything, it was kinda hot.”

“You thought me going red in the face is ‘hot’?” König shook his head in disbelief, “you’re a strange woman.”

“It’s cool to see you when you get all angry and stuff,” you chirped, then quietly added, “it would be hot if you yelled at me like that.”

“I don’t want the neighbors to know about your kinks,” König drawled as you blushed, “but if you really want, we could always try something when we get home.”

“Could we really?” you grinned eagerly.

“Well, not like that,” König pointed over his shoulder at where the three men had stood, “but I’m sure we can figure something out. Now,” he picked up the suitcase, “do you need a lift home?”

“I’ll be alright,” you assured him, “do you need me to go?”

“I'd hate for you to go so soon. If you like, I can meet you back in my office, but as you can see I’m a bit busy just right now,” König gestured over to the soldiers hauling a massive log over their shoulders from one end of the muddy field to the other.

“Can you at least give me a kiss before I go?” you asked.

“Of course,” König laughed.

Without missing a beat, König lifted his mask up to lean down and press a kiss against your lips. He held you tight briefly, then let you step back from his grasp. His eyes shone with an undying warmth as he took in your form once more.

“Colonel König has a face!” a soldier screamed in the distance.

König closed his eyes as he let out an exasperated groan.

“They’ve never seen your face?” you asked.

“They’ve never been on the field with me,” König explained before ruffling your hair, “now go to my office. I’ll be there soon, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” you blew him a kiss as you walked off back to the main building.

As you did, you could hear König raging and roaring at the soldiers from behind you. You felt bad, but you knew you’d be on the receiving end of König’s rage soon enough. Funnily enough, you looked forward to it.

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intrepidacious · 1 month ago

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occupy my brain [3]

series summary: Being Harlan Thrombey’s research assistant would be the perfect summer job if it weren’t for his grandson.

pairing: ransom drysdale x f!reader

word count: 1.1k

chapter warnings: implied smut. ransom being very ransom (cranky asshole) and yet very not-ransom (smitten). side characters talking shit about reader. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: we've made it to the end of 2024, folks!! and what better way to celebrate than by finally continuing this fic that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got that first prompt request almost two years ago. since the first two chapters were mostly standalones, i'm thinking that most of the continuing ones will be as well. updates for this story are not going to be regular and probably won't follow the timeline chronologically either, but we'll see what next year will bring. either way, this is already way too long for an author's note, happy to have you along for the ride 🫶🏼

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

damage ensued

One thing was for certain: Hugh Ransom Drysdale had always taken great pride in not giving a damn about anyone but himself. So far, it had served him well.

That wasn't really a surprise. His family had been throwing money at every obstacle they came across for decades now; it'd be idiotic not to take advantage of that.

And Ransom was definitely not an idiot.

That’s why he'd soon stopped begging for everyone’s attention and instead made them listen. If that got him into trouble, why would he care?

A Thrombey was untouchable, even if he had a different surname.

Whenever life got too boring, he'd find a new way to keep his mind from wandering, from wondering; his brain was kept occupied at all times. That's how he liked it—sweet diversions filling the silent gaps in his life.

This was just what life was supposed to be, wasn't it? Absolutely no fucking problem in the world that couldn't be disappeared with a healthy serving of dough before he was left to his usual ways once again, mindless and sinfully enjoyable.

Except …

Except sometimes a thought did make it through the walls he'd built around the most vulnerable parts of himself, the parts of him he'd love nothing more than to forget about. An unbidden, uninvited thought that stabbed right through like a well-timed vicious whisper, slamming him out of whatever stupor he’d put himself other:

Is that really all?

Usually, that thought was easy to keep down. It was quiet, after all, and the world he liked to live in was loud and vibrant and perfectly distracting.

There was only one problem: You wouldn’t leave his mind.

Ever since that night that’d ended with you in his bed, traces of you lingered all over his house. An echo of the sounds you made when he was rutting into you. The memory of your eyes rolling back while you were sprawled out on his sheets. Images that, no matter how many times he jerked off to them, would not leave him the fuck alone.

It was ridiculous.

You were nothing more than an intern, for god’s sake. Easy on the eyes, sure; real damn easy. But just a girl. A random nobody with the most beautiful curves and the loveliest eyes he’d ever—

Jesus, there was something wrong with him.

That was how he found himself at the party of one of the friends he'd made by being rich and handsome, drowning out any reminder of you with too-loud music and another drink. He'd not gotten high in a while but maybe he should text his guy again; that was usually a surefire way to turn off any coherent, unwanted thought in his head.

For now, though, he couldn't be bothered to make the drive. Besides, he'd come here with one specific goal in mind: He had to get you out of his system once and for all, and do it fast. Judging by the past couple of days, that was the only way to get his life back to the way it used to be.

Replace the delicious memories by making new ones. Better ones.

Better. Faster. More.

Ransom took another swig from his beer. It really was such a drag that all the women at this party seemed terribly dull. Not that any of them had approached him; all his annoyingly persistent musings had put a scowl on his face, and that had been enough for most people to give him a wide berth. This was just great.

It was true what they said: If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. And what he wanted, no, what he needed right now was to be sucked into oblivion.

Just so that he wouldn't see your goddamn face every time he closed his eyes.

Later, he’d tell police that he’d been provoked and that none of this was his fucking fault, and as far as he was concerned, that was the truth. After all, he’d barely slept in days. He definitely wasn’t to blame for any of this.

In any event: Despite his earlier public session of self-pity seemingly giving him quite the disadvantage when it came to getting laid tonight, Ransom knew exactly how to turn on his charms in the right moment, and so it didn't take him too long to find a girl who was just pretty and willing enough to turn his night around. Even better, she didn’t look like you in the slightest; her voice was rough and she smelled like cigarette smoke and too-sweet apple cider, and her name disappeared from his mind as soon as it left her lips.

This was what it was supposed to be like, he thought as he grabbed her by the throat and pressed her against a nearby wall. Just a way to get his rocks off. He was just about to suggest moving things upstairs when his spine went rigid.

Someone behind him had just mentioned your name; your full name, so it couldn't be a coincidence, either.

Of course, that had nothing to do with him. He was busy right now.

But something about those guys talking about you rubbed him the wrong way and he couldn't help but continue to listen, even as he was still trying to stay blissfully distracted.

"—about me, the bitch, I mean, what the fuck," one of the voices said, followed by an echo of snickers and a petulant, "I know, right?"

That whiny little thought perked up again, and any attempt to smother it only resulted in him listening in on more of that conversation, despite his expressed indifference.

"—definitely sleeping with the professor—"

"—that stuck up nerd? Nah, she’s—"

"—honestly pathetic—"

Something hot and ugly was twisting in Ransom’s guts, and even know there was no rational reason for it, it had to do with the grating voices of those frat boys. Finally, though, he'd heard enough.

"Excuse me," he told the girl and not too gently removed her hands from his collar, not even sparing her a second glance as he turned and fixed his hair. Then, before he could think about it twice, he strode over to the group. "Who're you guys talking about?"

"This bitch in my microbiology class," one of them said, rolling his eyes. "You know her?"

"Do I look like I know her?" Ransom replied, and they all laughed as if that was a hilarious answer to a rhetorical question. God, he was surrounded by morons. With a tightlipped smile, he waited until Microbiology made eye contact with him again, mouth still parted in the same malicious grin, too drunk or too dumb to recognize the inexplicable ire he was staring at.

"Anyway."

And then he punched the guy in the face.

thank you to @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane for fixing my first sentence for me and thank YOU for reading 🧡 i don't have a tag list but if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

wishing you all a good 2025 and good riddance to last year. i'll see you on the other side 🫶🏼

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #ransom drysdale series #knives out fanfiction #knives out fanfic #occupy my brain

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alexsoenomel · 1 year ago

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The Reveries Of My Mind (Dean Winchester x Reader fluff/smut)

Summary: What happens when you discover you can feel someone's torment and struggles through an unexplainable bond?

"Your struggles are mine. Your sadness is mine. You're mine."

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI , vanilla sex, dreams about the reader dying --not too graphic , first person fic

Word count: 6.7k

Note: I took my time with this one. I really like it. I've been struggling to write for so long it feels good to be back. Enjoy!

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

And a huge thank you to my wonderful beautiful best friend @ambergoddess444 for being the best beta reader <3

I’m gonna kill him.

I heard Sam’s voice echo in my mind as I was eating my pancakes. I looked at Dean who was stuffing his face with eggs and bacon, not really paying attention to Sam’s resting bitch face.

STOP CHEWING SO LOUD FOR THE LOVE OF CHUCK!

I heard him again and almost choked on my milk.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I answered.

Dean just glanced at me and continued eating his breakfast.

It was Sunday and luck was on our side because we couldn't find a case. This would happen once in a blue moon so we were quite content with having a day off. Monsters sometimes sleep.

After breakfast Sam said he was going to go and catch up on some reading while Dean and I were left alone.

“Can I borrow Baby?” I asked, since it was July and summer was in full swing in Kansas. I wanted to forget about my job – about hunting – I wanted to go outside and feel the summer breeze in my hair in his beautiful Impala. I already knew his answer as soon as I saw his brow arch. He was very protective over his Baby; only allowed me to drive once after I begged him for my birthday.

Absolutely not.

“Why?”

I crossed my arms, my lips thinned.

“Why ask when you already gave me your answer?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, eyes widened as we were sitting at the table opposite of each other.

“I keep forgetting you can do that,” he said, looking away from me.

“You keep forgetting about your mental shield,” I told him as I went to the kitchen to get myself some coffee.

I didn't realize Dean was following me until I heard his voice.

“I can't just sit in silence and breathe while I think about nothing.”

“You mean to meditate?” I chuckled.

“Yeah…that.”

I took a sip of hot coffee Sam made after breakfast and turned around to face him.

“You have to strengthen your shield, Dean.”

“There has to be another way,” he said desperately as he poured coffee into his black mug.

“No there isn't, I told you. Everyone has a mental shield, but the reason why I can hear people's thoughts 99% of the time is because their shield is not strong enough. And how do you strengthen your shield? You shut up and meditate. Focus on it and build it.”

Dean wasn't pleased as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Sam meditates, can you still hear his thoughts?”

“I can, because it takes years to actually strengthen the damn shield and he started meditating six months ago.”

He just rolled his eyes as we went back to the library.

“I don't want you in my head,” he stated.

“I cannot help it, dumbass. Can I take the car or not?”

Dean took the keys out of his pocket and dangled them in front of my face. I tried to take them but he refused to give them to me.

Typical.

“I'm driving,” he told me with a smirk.

***

“Where do you want to go?” He asked me as I closed the car door.

“I don't have any particular destination in mind. I just wanted to drive around and listen to music.”

Dean gave me a soft smile before starting the engine. Baby was purring – I could never get tired of that sound; it was smooth and powerful – no wonder he was so protective of her. The car held memories, sacred moments and was filled with stories – good and bad.

“Sounds like a plan,” and with those words we were off.

We were on the main highway, heading to God knows where. Dean, of course being the driver, was controlling the music as well.

Dream On by Aerosmith was playing. I loved that song, but I was in the mood for Van Halen.

Driver picks the music. Shot-

“Shotgun what?” I smirked, glancing at him. I saw he gripped the wheel tighter and licked his lips.

“God, I hate when you do that,” he said. I chuckled.

Front windows were down, summer breeze in my face and hair gently caressing me as Crazy Train started playing. Ozzy was too chaotic for this drive. As much as I loved his songs I wanted something to ease my mind and not encourage my body to produce adrenaline. I dared to change the song.

Don't Fear The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult.

Much better.

“Hey, I was listening to that,” Dean of course complained.

“Well not anymore,” I told him as I showed him a middle finger.

A chuckle left his lips before he spoke.

“Wanna grab a few drinks?”

“Dean I don't wanna get drunk at” – I looked at my phone to check the time – “11am.”

“You don't have to do anything you don’t wanna do. We can buy a few beers and go to our favorite hiding spot. If I get too drunk maybe, maybe I'll let you drive.”

I couldn't believe what I just heard. My heart was racing from excitement. Sam was always the designated driver; Dean would sometimes drive drunk without us noticing. I know that because he admitted that…while we were drinking after a successful hunt.

“Really?” I played skeptical; part of me was. “You're not afraid I'll crash your beloved car?”

“If you do, I'll kill you,” he looked at me and gave me a flat smile.

Fair enough.

“Well okay.”

She won't crash my car.

Well I think she won’t.

I hope she won’t.

I didn't say anything, just stared at the trees blurred on my right side as we passed by; absorbing the warmth and sunshine in my face.

It's My Life By Bon Jovi started playing.

Perfect.

Dean bought a couple of beers and some Slim Jims at the first gas station just before his favorite hiding spot.

The hiding spot was an abandoned house we found a few months ago when we were hunting a vampire nest. It was an old cabin in the middle of nowhere, a few miles away from the main road. After exterminating the nest, we started coming there every once in a while to relax and get away from everything that made us hunters. Sam completely forgot about that place but Dean and I would occasionally go, mainly at night to get away from the bunker’s haunting reminder of the life we were living. There we were just regular folk, drinking and having fun. The house was dusty and old, but dear to us, like a portal to a regular life and what we desperately wanted, but could never have.

As we were approaching the house I couldn’t ignore the strong sense of serenity coming from Dean. His mind was at ease, no racing thoughts, no sorrow he would usually carry within himself – he was happy. I’ve never told him about that; I know he would probably freak out – yell even – so I kept my mouth shut. I would be lying if I said it didn't freak me out as well. Every emotion he would feel, I would feel too and sometimes even twice as strong. It was like a bond of some sort; an invisible string connecting us and letting me see and feel every inch of his mind. I would wake up whenever he couldn’t sleep, I’d laugh whenever he’d laughed and I would get angry whenever he’d get angry…I felt everything and it was driving me insane not being able to talk to him about it, because it was only him I’d felt connected to.

I smiled at him when he turned off the engine, feeling the warmth in his soul. I got out of the car and stretched my legs, inhaling fresh summer air and soaking in the sunshine on my skin.

“Let’s have a picnic,” I suggested, “I don’t wanna go inside. The weather is beautiful.”

“A picnic? Here?” He asked, looking around. Nothing but endless grass fields around us; the highway was peeking through the greenery but we could barely see it anymore.

“You will be fine, princess,” I chuckled, “Besides it’s good to connect with mother nature every once and a while.”

Forest nymph.

He started calling me that when I told him about my love and admiration for nature and my passion for hiking and exploring woods. He told me no sane person loves hiking, but his younger brother understood. Now, occasionally I’d go hiking with Sam.

I ignored his thought, even though I wanted to tell him we weren’t in a forest, and found a perfect spot next to the house and sat down. He rolled his eyes and joined me.

Dean cracked two bottles and I opened one of my favorite honey BBQ Slim Jims and took a first bite. I loved the smooth texture and a light honey flavor mixed with BBQ aroma in my mouth.

“Cheers!” He said lifting his bottle for a toast.

“Cheers, for not dying!”

He chuckled.

“For not dying!”

One beer…

Two beers later we were both feeling the consequences of our own actions. I was tipsy due to my low alcohol tolerance while Dean seemed sober but was far from it. He had a strange gift – being able to fake sobriety. He had been doing it for years and now seeing him behaving like a drunken fool looked strange and unfamiliar.

He was looking at me; green eyes sparkling under the sun making me wonder if he and I were ever meant for something more. I was in love with the idea of being in love with him but it scared me more than death which I had experienced a couple of times. He was my best friend, my annoying best friend with a heart of gold and a shadow he wanted to remain hidden.

We stayed for hours, soaking in the sunshine and summer heat while reliving old memories and wondering if this life we had was worth it. We soon realized, it was.

“We still get to experience this,” I stated, showing him a butterfly that flew in that moment right in front of me.

“Butterflies?” He wondered, tilting his head a little in confusion.

“Nature, dumbass,” I smiled, “And other small pleasures, music, alcohol, food…and also knowing the world is less shitty because of us.”

He nodded in a silent agreement before hearing him call me forest nymph again. His warm green eyes fixed on me, making me a bit nervous. He didn't say a word.

“What?” I finally asked him.

His right hand went into the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out his car keys.

“You can drive,” he told me and gave me the keys.

***

When we came back home safely, since I didn’t crash his precious car, Sam was still in his room, probably reading and Dean decided to take a nap since naps weren’t a regular occurrence in our household.

I decided to continue the book I started a couple of weeks ago. I missed being able to read books I wanted, and not just ones for research purposes. I could still feel him. He was content. I smiled and opened my book.

An hour into the book and a picture flashed right in front of my eyes. I saw blood, so much blood on the sidewalk. Hairs on my arms rose as another frame appeared: it was a girl lying face down, head bludgeoned. A wave of fear rushed over me as I closed my book, not being able to simply ignore it. I knew exactly what this was – Dean’s nightmares – I knew exactly who this was.

Another flash. His hands, covered in blood. He was trying to wake me up. He was calling my name over and over again like a prayer of despair, but I didn’t wake up; I didn’t move an inch.

Usually I would ignore his nightmares; I was too afraid to say anything, afraid of his reaction and not being able to give him a good explanation, but my silence was killing me. Something told me – maybe it was intuition or my impulsiveness, or both – I had to wake him up.

Quickly I got out of my bed and rushed to his room. His jaw was clenched, his body seemed stiff under the white sheet that covered him just below his chin. I could hear quiet moans coming from him as another picture appeared right in front of me – he was on his knees, holding me tight, eyes bloodshot red and filled with tears…My heart broke in a second before I closed my eyes, trying to make it go away. As I approached him I could see his eyes fluttering rapidly beneath his closed eyelids, his forehead glistening with a faint sheen of sweat…I had to wake him up.

“Dean?” I whispered and sat next to him. A whimper escaped his lips.

“Dean?” I called his name again, this time a little bit louder and with a hand on his cheek. He was warm.

“Dean, wake up!” I could feel his shock as he shot his eyes open, taking a deep breath like he forgot how to breathe, shivers running through him – I could feel them all over my skin.

He took in his familiar surroundings before he looked at me.

“You had a nightmare,” I told him.

“Yeah, a really bad one,” he simply added, pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache started to settle as he got up and went to the bathroom to splash himself with cold water. He was only wearing black boxers and it wasn’t like I have never seen him shirtless, it was the fact that every time I did, I had to tell myself not to stare like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time.

I swallowed thickly without saying a word.

I have to tell him. I repeated that sentence over and over again. I have to tell him he deserves to know.

When he came back my eyes registered his bulge for a second before looking up. I was praying he didn’t notice.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, so much for napping,” he lied and started putting on his blue jeans. I knew he was lying, he would always lie and repress his emotions and needs. I knew he was exhausted. Those nightmares had been happening for a week straight; the exhaustion showing on his face in a form of dark circles; the once lively features now appeared subdued; eyes dimmed.

“I saw it,” I utter these three words without much thought.

“What?” He was about to button his red flannel, stopping mid through.

“I saw your nightmare, you have been having the same nightmare for a week now.”

I refused to look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me as he took my words in. I could feel a slight sting in my chest coming from him – shock.

“You can read minds AND see people’s nightmares?”

“Not people’s; yours. It only happens with you, I wake up every time you have a nightmare, I feel every emotion you feel,” – I took a deep breath before I continued; I knew him well enough to know he hated secrets, even though he was a damn hypocrite and had his own – “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to freak you out. I cannot control it, trust me I tried, but I can’t. It has been happening for a while and-”

His eyes once trusting shited and now held a hint of disappointment, his jaw clenched. Anger.

Anger and disappointment.

“For how long?” His deep voice echoed in my ears as he cut my frantic explanation short.

I froze. I knew this question was coming. I knew right there that keeping this thing a secret was a mistake. I couldn’t answer it. I couldn’t…

“For how long (Y/N)?” He demanded crossing his arms. I didn’t like the sound of my name when he was angry.

I stood up, barely feeling my legs before I answered: “A year.”

“Does Sam know?” The next question came out less angrily, his voice softer than seconds ago.

“No.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It started as just me feeling whenever you were happy, it was hard to recognise it at first, I thought it was my happiness and then it progressed to other emotions like fear, anger and sadness and after that I started seeing your dreams. I didn’t tell Sam because I wasn’t sure what was happening.”

“And you didn’t tell me because…?” He asked like I hadn’t given him the answer.

“I told you I didn’t want to freak you out. It feels like I’m invading your privacy.”

He scoffed.

“No shit Sherlock!”

His eyes widened before he spoke again: “Wait, so that means you can feel whenever I get horny?”

I chuckled. “No, because being horny isn’t an emotion, Dean. It’s a state.”

“Oh thank God,” he expressed his relief.

“I do feel the sudden rush of endorphins and happy hormones every time you come though,” at this point I had nothing to hide, especially when I could feel his anger subsiding. It wasn’t like him to just ignore something that made him angry, but for whatever reason he was over it. Now he was mortified.

“Oh God!” He said and opened the door of his room. “SAMMY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE WE HAVE SOME RESEARCH TO DO!”

I swallowed a laugh before he turned around.

“We're gonna get to the bottom of this!”

***

Sam was genuinely surprised when I told him about the bond. He would usually try to find an explanation or guess what it was; this time he was silent. No logical explanation, no guessing, no nothing…

“Well that’s something I have never heard off,” he just told you and went to the library to try and find some books about…

Mind reading?

Bonds?

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” he said, looking at the spines of old books on the shelves.

“You’re telling me,” Dean agreed.

“It’s not like I’m a monster with abilities.”

My statement was enough to light a bulb in Sam’s head: “Yes but…” – he went to the second shelf behind you, like he knew what he was looking for – “You’re something else.”

Dean and I looked at each other in confusion before Sam pulled a book from the shelf.

“Indigo children?” I read the covers.

“Huh?” Of course Dean had no idea.

“I mean it makes sense, you said you were always highly empathetic, ever since you were a kid right?”

“Yes,” I nodded as he was flipping the pages trying to find a specific chapter. The book was annotated but it wasn’t his handwriting.

“Also you started reading minds when you were 7?”

“Well kinda.”

“Before that it was like a guessing game, you just knew?”

“Sort of.”

Chapter 54. Abilities.

Indigo children are children who are believed to possess special, unusual, and sometimes supernatural traits or abilities.

“I have been on this Earth for how long and I’ve never connected the dots,” I said, admiring my own stupidity and inability to dig deeper. I was never curious enough to find an explanation for my ability; never cared enough to think about it too deeply; when I started living with Sam and Dean five years ago I told them right away what I could do. They first thought I was Azazel’s long lost special kid, the one that was lucky enough to somehow hide in the shadows back when Azazel was still alive, but that wasn’t the case. My parents were killed by a vampire and I’d never met Azazel; I didn’t even know he existed until they told me. I only knew regular black eyed demons.

“So, you were a gifted kid? That still doesn’t explain your ability to do what you have been doing for a year,” Dean scoffed.

Who names gifted kids indigo kids? Seriously?!

You chuckled.

“Wait, you have been able to do that for a year?” You heard Sam, your eyes still on the book, trying to find something, anything that would indicate the existence of the said bond.

“Yes, why?”

“Go to chapter 55,” he told me. I flipped a few pages until I saw: Chapter 55, Soulmate bonds.

An Indigo child can stumble upon an unprecedented neural synchronization when encountering their soulmate. This synchronization extends beyond telepathic communication, as it involves the transmission and reception of emotional states and dream imagery, resulting in an intimate sharing of thoughts, feelings, and subconscious experiences. Although very rare, it is possible for an Indigo child’s soulmate to be mortal, with no supernatural abilities. If an Indigo child does encounter their soulmate the bond can snap into place usually after 4 or 5 years (one case showed it can also happen after six months).

“I read this book before we met so it never crossed my mind,” I heard Sam say as I was absorbing the information. I’d known him for five years…

Five years…

It made sense.

As I was reading the first chapter out loud Dean’s wave of shock made my heart beat faster as Sam went to the kitchen to get some booze. It was like he read my mind. I have never heard of his bond. As much as I loved the idea of Dean being mine, I knew he came with tons of baggage, untreated alcoholism, and rage so immense it made my stomach turn. I was no better though just with less intensity and alcoholism.

That’s bullshit.

My heart broke hearing these words, but I finally got the courage to look at him, and for the first time his face was unreadable. He was silent. And then he just left.

Sam came back with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and three classes in the other.

“Where’s Dean?”

“He left…to process, I guess,” I said before hearing Dean slamming the front door.

Sam, knowing me too well, didn’t say anything and just poured me a glass of Dean’s fine whiskey. I took a sip feeling a sweet burn down my throat. We were silent for a while, my words buried deep in my mind; struggling to articulate my thoughts as if I had any at that moment.

“How do you feel about all of this?” Sam finally spoke, breaking the pleasant silence.

A lump formed in my throat as I tried to blink back tears. I cleared my throat and took another sip.

“I think…I’m scared to tell him he already has me wrapped around his finger with or without the stupid bond,” my answer was honest. I was scared – terrified of crossing the boundary; breaking the only rule I had: no long term relationships. Anything more than a friendship with Dean would end catastrophically; I was aware of that and yet I still secretly hoped. I wanted him to want me, I wanted him to look at me and see a safe space; I wanted him so painfully to see me and think: “She’s worth it.”

“Oh he knows, he's just being a dick about it,” Sam’s bluntness surfaced as he drank his glass of whiskey.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not really following him.

He knows?

“You two have something I’ve only experienced once in my life and yet you refuse to acknowledge it.”

My forehead creased as I subtly tilted my head in confusion. Then I heard Sam’s voice in my head as he looked at me with a soft smile on his face.

Jessica…

“Oh…” was all I could say.

“Yeah, he was scared before, now he’s probably terrified. Talk to him when he gets back.”

“So he can reject me? And probably tell me to move out? Even if he feels the same, I know Dean, and he would rather give up alcohol for the rest of his life than talk about his feelings.”

Sam snorted and nodded silently agreeing with me.

“Trust me. He won’t reject you. He’s my brother, I know him a little bit better than you do.”

***

Dean was gone for hours it seemed. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the bond, so I did what any sane hunter would do – I repressed my thoughts with more whiskey and drowned myself in more research with Sam. The more I drank it felt like I became more sober.

I wanted to know more about this soulmate bond. I wanted to know if there was any other way for people to block me from entering their minds besides strengthening the mental shield.

“I’ve never asked you, how did you find out about the shield anyway?” Sam asked me behind his laptop while I was trying to find books about telepathy.

“A witch told me,” I stated behind bookshelves, “When my parents died I let it control me, I couldn’t stand it, I could hear every single person I came in contact with and it was driving me nuts. So, I found a witch, a good one, and she helped me control it and told me about the shield since she was the first person I couldn’t tap into.”

I remember her fondly. Her white crow would sometimes appear, to let me know she was alive and I would visit her every year on her birthday in winter. I would tell the Winchesters I was seeing an old friend; without adding too much detail, since I knew Dean’s hatred of witches far too well.

“Good witches exist?”

“Oh yeah, she’s wonderful.”

There wasn’t any other way for other people to shield their minds from me, sadly.

“Oh but I think I found something,” Sam told me and turned his laptop towards me. I read the short paragraph and looked at him.

“I can do that?”

“You can try.”

***

Dean was still gone by the time we decided to take a break from research. Sam decided to go for a walk before bed while I went to my room to try and contact Dean through the bond. The article Sam found stated it was possible to contact your soulmate if you focused all of your energy on them.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

I laid on my bed and closed my eyes, picturing Dean standing right in front of me. Even in my mind he made me nervous. His aura was so captivating and stoic; you couldn’t forget him even if you tried. His name escaped my lips a few times, eyes still closed, but all I could hear was dead silence.His face still engraved in my mind, I studied his features: his smile lines, beautiful kissable lips, his perfect nose, freckles…

Dean? I called.

(Y/N), what the hell?

He heard me. I could feel my feet going cold as my body went numb. My heart was in my throat.

I’ll explain later! Please come home, I wanna talk to you.

In a second, my mind lost focus as I became more aware of my nervousness and he was gone. I couldn’t see him anymore.

“Crap!” I uttered in frustration and decided to text him.

Please come home.

***

I heard his footsteps thirty minutes later. I was ready for the worst; I was ready for Dean to tell me to leave; I was ready for all of it to end.

I heard him knock seconds later.

“You there?”

“Come in!”

He closed the door behind him. I was in the middle of trying to read my book, emphasis on trying, since the nervousness turned into full blown anxiety and I couldn’t focus on anything but him. I put the book down as he sat on the bed. I was hit with a sudden smell of cigarettes and alcohol in my nostrils. He probably went to a bar.

“How did you do that?” He asked, this time looking me dead in the eyes. His gaze wasn’t soft – I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated – his eyes bore into mine with such seriousness I’d only seen a handful of times.

“I did some research with Sam. The bond allows us to communicate telepathically.”

“I-I can also do that?”

“If you concentrate hard enough, yeah.”

An astounded chuckle was all I heard. And then:

This is crazy.

I know.

His lips parted slightly once he realized he could hear me. I on the other hand didn’t want him to hear me, but looking at him, seeing the evident worry and fear in his green eyes, I couldn’t control it. It became natural.

“Where were you?” I asked and boldly decided to sit next to him.

“Went to our favorite hiding spot to think. When thinking became too much, I went to a bar and had a couple of drinks.”

“And? What are your thoughts?”

His hand gently found mine, intertwining his fingers with mine. I wasn’t sure if I was breathing at that moment. I could feel my cheeks burning as he pressed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I feel like ignoring how I feel about you just made everything worse.”

I’m terrified.

I ignored it and focused on his actual voice. “And I feel like this bond slapped me in the face.”

“You and me both,” I smiled.

Sam was right after all. I didn’t know what else to say but all I could think about was pressing my lips against his. I wanted to kiss him so badly, but my body refused to cooperate with my mind.

I didn’t need to kiss him first, because his lips found mine in a matter of seconds. The kiss was gentle, warm; his lips perfectly pressed against mine. I opened my mouth letting him know he could explore it with his tongue and he was happy to do so. A whine escaped my lips when he broke the kiss.

“I heard you,” he smirked.

Please stay with me. My mind yelled.

“I will,” he heard me. Again.

***

Dean went to get ready for bed and so did I. It was already 11pm, Sam was long gone, snoring in his room after a long walk and I went to take a shower.

It will probably happen.

Maybe it won’t?

Maybe we will just cuddle and sleep?

Yeah right.

Why am I so nervous?

I’m nervous because the last time I was in love with someone he left me for a girl named Karen.

In high school.

Crap.

My thoughts were racing as I was washing myself and getting ready to spend the night with him. I put on my shirt and a pair of clean underwear before brushing my teeth. I turned off the lights and went under the covers. Somehow it was always cold in my room, no matter the season. I focused on my soft pillow and how it felt against my cheek as I turned on my side. That lasted maybe two seconds as my mind kept drifting and wondering what was coming next. The thought of him pressed against me made me excited; his lips on my neck, hands on my hips…

I didn’t even realize I was rubbing my thighs together, desperately seeking some form of release. Thank God I was tired, a few moments later I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and my body finally relaxing. I wondered where Dean was as I started drifting and soon enough I got my answer.

He would always take long showers; so I wasn’t surprised when he came 15 minutes later. He found me peacefully drifting between realms of reality and dreams, and with his hands wrapped around me pulled me back to reality – to him. My back pressed against him; we stayed like this, as my patience was running low and I could feel myself getting wet.

He was melting any sense of restraint I had and even with nervousness practically suffocating me, I turned around and snuggled against him, his chin resting on top of my head. He was warm; skin soft as I took a deep breath to breathe in his scent – forest after rain and him.

“Did you know?” I whispered into him.

“Huh? What?” His deep raspy voice so close to ears made me shiver.

“Did you know that I have feelings for you?”

Sam said he did, but I wanted to hear from him.

“I suspected it, but refused to believe it. Until Sam confirmed it.”

“How did Sam know? I’ve never told him.” I said and lifted my head to look at him. It was dark, but I could still see the outlines of his face – he smiled at me.

“He told me you get smiling eyes when we are together. I didn’t really know what he meant until we took down that vampire nest back in Austin. I told you, you were an idiot for trying to take down a whole damn nest by yourself and you kept looking at me with those dove lookin’ eyes.”

I smiled. I remembered that. It was a few months ago and I was indeed an idiot. He and Sam almost died and I had to do something. I was reckless and instead of coming up with a plan I let my machete go wild.

“Well it’s not my fault you’re hot when you’re angry.”

I could feel his smirk before I kissed him, this time cupping his cheek with my hand. He immediately kissed back, pulling me closer to him like that was even possible. This time, one kiss turned into another and another. We both didn't want to pull away; his hands hesitantly started roaming under my shirt, instantaneously sending shivers all over my body. I took his hands, breaking the kiss.

“Touch me. I'm yours,” I whispered before kissing him again, not being able to get enough. I could feel his little smirk against my lips as he tugged on my shirt trying to take it off. I took it off and in seconds he took his. My mind was focused on him and only him as I felt his soft skin under my fingertips.

You're going to be the death of me.

Likewise, sweetheart.

This time I smiled between kisses. I liked that nickname, I couldn’t wait to actually hear it out loud. He wasted no time before he pushed me onto the bed and straddle me; his lips not leaving mine. We were like two addicts; we couldn't stop; we didn't want to stop. He pressed his hips on mine and I could feel him, pressed against my wet center. A soft moan escaped my lips as my fingers tugged on his damp hair. He moved his lips on my neck, while his hand found my center. A light brush was enough to make me moan his name. I was so sensitive, so vulnerable underneath him; he was consuming every reverie of my mind.

I was growing impatient, but he knew that, and now I couldn't hide anything from him anymore. The bond was stronger now, we didn't even have to try to communicate with one another; it was like breathing.

I lowered his boxers as much as I could and wrapped my hand around his hard dick, earning a groan from him. I pumped him a few times, as my impatience became his. He kissed me before standing on his knees and took my panties off. He stopped for a second.

Adoration – I could feel it through the bond. He was making me blush in the dark; my cheeks growing warm.

You're so beautiful.

Before I could answer him, he positioned himself between my legs and slowly entered me, stretching me nice and slow; his lips found mine again as he swallowed my gasp and slowly started to move. My legs wrapped around his hips, wanting more, more and more…

I was about to get drunk and see stars. My hands were around his neck before I cupped his face. He broke the kiss when we both couldn't breathe, biting my shoulder lightly, his pace becoming faster.

My mind only knew his name as I was chanting it over and over again, like a sweet prayer. He nuzzled his head in my neck, kissing it sloppily.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear.

I was in a complete haze, unable to muster anything but his name.

His nose resting on my cheek, he placed a soft kiss only to swallow my moans once more, as we both started to fall apart.

“Dean, I-,” I wasn't able to speak, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach and I could tell, feel, he wasn't going to last much longer.

“I know, baby. I know. I can feel it,” he said and I wasn't sure if he could feel it through the bond or if my body was telling him – or both.

My moans became desperate; with that voice Dean could make me do whatever his little heart desired.

We came in sync, eyes locked and growing breathless. He couldn't keep my name out of his mouth and I didn't want him to. When he pulled out and laid next to me we were both panting and growing sleepier. I lazily moved closer to him, kissing his shoulder as he immediately wrapped his hand around my torso and pulled me close.

“And you thought we'd just cuddle,” he chuckled.

I raised my head to look at him.

“You heard me?”

“Yeah, we have to figure out how to not hear each other's thoughts all the time.”

“Well…” I started and he just shot me a death glare.

“I ain't meditating.”

I cupped his face, squeezing his cheeks lightly making his lips pout.

“Fine,” I said and gave him a pack on the lips, “we will find another way.”

“Thank you.”

I stayed in his arms until we both fell asleep. He played with my hair and I drew small circles on his chest. He asked me about the research – what I found, what I didn't – asked me about us.

“If it's meant to be it's meant to be,” my eyelids grew heavy as I mumbled the words and drifted to sleep.

Dean kissed my forehead and closed his eyes.

***

I could feel Dean’s hands pulling me closer to him, his fingers digging into my flesh as my ears heard him say my name in a form of whisper. I lazily opened my eyes not knowing if he was awake or not. His fingers dug into my stomach as he repeatedly called me in a frantic tone.

He’s dreaming.

“Dean?” I turned around and even in complete darkness my eyes registered his clenched jaw, while my body felt the stiffness of his.

“Dean?” I repeated again and nuzzled my head under his chin and placed a gentle kiss on his neck. I knew what he was dreaming about – I was dying again and he was trying to save me.

Dean, baby wake up!

I told him through the bond as I stroked his soft hedgehog-like hair. I could sense the fear lingering within him as his eyes shot open, his breathing came in uneven gasps and his chest was rising and falling frantically. I wrapped my hand around his torso and embraced him in a tight hug as the weight of the nightmare still lingered.

“I’m here,” I repeated a couple of times, giving him the reassurance I knew he needed.

“It’s just a dream, Dean.”

His breathing became stable again.

“You died,” eventually he told me. The fear was gone and replaced with sadness – sadness so somber and heavy I only felt once when Charlie died.

“No, I didn’t. I’m here,” I told him and placed his hand on my chest.

“I’m right here,” I said before kissing him. A sigh of relief left his lips.

“I feel like I’m gonna lose it…the same dream over and over.”

He was desperate, so desperate for answers it made my soul ache, but I knew this wasn’t the time.

“I know, and we will figure it out. Sleep baby, I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered before kissing him lovingly. His hand found my cheek as I broke the kiss resting my forehead against his.

“Your struggles are mine. Your sadness is mine. You're mine,” I told him as my legs intertwined with his. My hand was on his chest, feeling his heart beating faster. Something was traveling through the bond, something lovely and warm I could only describe it as love. Suddenly I heard it; a whisper traveling through the bond: I love you, before he kissed me again.

I love you too.

Tagged: @lacilou , @littlemadamred , @girls-alias , @captainannatheweirdo , @nancymcl

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whumpdreaming · 3 months ago

Text

My introduction!

Hi! My name is Heather (they/them). I've been a lurker for some time, but I now realize what I've been writing has been whump all along, so.. hello!

My first encounters with whump were in Sunday school 😭😭 some of those kid's bible books were insanely whumpy for no reason at alI, and then it's only now I learn what the term actually is. I speak decent French (getting back into it after not using it for a few years), I intend to go to culinary school and become a professional chef, and my main fandoms include Overwatch, Baldur's Gate (not into it as much anymore, sadly), Epic: The Musical, and Ultrakill and FNAF (which I don't write much fic for).

This blog will never contain NSFW content! Kink blogs and antis please DNI!

What this blog will contain:

Whump (obviously)

My own writing (lots of drabbles, occasionally some of my more involved work ; aka my two big projects, a BBU story since that setting grabbed me by the brain as soon as I saw it for the first time, and various Overwatch characters getting whumped to hell and back --- I don't see enough talk about Cole Cassidy's big sad puppy dog eyes)

Lots and lots of reblogs since that's easier than actually writing 😅

Keep in mind that this isn't a NSFW blog and I won't be posting anything sexual/explicit, but I'm a fan of intense/graphic whump and things can get pretty dark. In those cases, there'll be a warning at the top of the post along with the content listings just to make sure everyone stays safe!

Some of my favorite tropes:

Living weapons!!

Gore (I'm not a fan of major character death, so I like it best when a healing factor is involved if it's very intense)

Parental caretakers

Transition/weight gain in recovery

Recovery in general, especially when difficult!

Lab whump!

Pet whump!

Chronic pain (totally not coping with this one)

Dehumanization!!

Vivisection!!

Panic attacks

Emotional distress of all kinds

Sickfics!!

If you send me any asks or requests or interact with my posts or say literally anything nice about me whatsoever I will give you my firstborn child

Some of my favorite whump blogs that inspired me to make a blog in the first place: @painonthebrain @whumpninja @defire @whumpwordsoftheday @sowhumpshaped

@sickfictropes @allthingswhumpyandangsty @writinglittlepains @whumpyourdamnpears --- sorry in advance if you didn't want to be mentioned! 😭

Btw --- check out my Widowmaker whump fic :)

Series:

Barbara Summers has a bad time with the mob (I'll update it someday I promise) ; also called "Consequences"

Intro

One

Two

Drabbles: (Electrocution+Unconscious+"Say Please") (Warm Bath + Fresh Bandages + "..Nothing. It just hurts") (Broken Fingers+Trying not to scream+"Aw, poor thing")

---

Crownchain

Character/setting introduction

"Foul Play"

"Pulling Strings"

Whump+Hurtcember: (Day 1: Collapse + Broken Bones) (Day 2: Breakdown + "This is your fault") (Day 3: Blood + Begging) (Day 4: "Help me" alt prompt + "This isn't my blood") (Day 5: Faint + Concussion) (Day 6: Touch Starved + "Please stop") (Day 7: Abandoned + Kidnapped) (Day 8: Cuddle + Fire alt prompt) (Day 9: Exhausted + Shaking) (Day 10: Touch Aversion + "Let me help you") (Day 11: "It's my fault" alt prompt + Manipulation) (Day 12: Cry + "I have nowhere else to go") (Day 13: Nightmare + Trauma) (Day 22: Self Harm + Hallucinations)

(Poisoned + Pleading + "You never do shut up, do you?")

---

Hemopenia

Stages of blood withdrawal

Stage Zero

Pilot

Not Dead

Stage One

Lively

(Delirium / Good dream with an unpleasant wake-up / "..Mom?")

---

Taby's terrible horrible no good very bad life

Intro

One

---

Various unnamed superhero things

(Anxiety attack / Apologizing / "I just.. I just need a minute.")

Febuwhump: (Day 1: Vocal Chords) (Day 2: Holding Back Tears) (Day 3: Pinned Down) (Day 4: Major Character Death, alt prompt) (Day 5: Not Trusting Reality) (Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake) (Day 7: Alternate Timeline Self) (Day 9: Necromancy)

That's about it for now!! Thanks for reading!

#whump #whumpblr #whump intro #whumptroduction

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httpknjoon · 2 years ago

Text

spotted | jjk

plot | This is how it started for the princess and the rockstar.

words | 3.8k

genres | fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | hi!! this is my first entry for this series and I'm so excited to write more about this pair in the future. let me know your thoughts! enjoy reading :)

main masterlist | drabble series

Royal Sisters, Princesses YN and Astrid Spotted Dancing at Sweet September’s Concert

On Friday night, the princesses were snapped watching the rock band at Crystalline Stadium.

Following the closing of the Royal Games earlier that day, Princesses YN, 25, and Astrid, 19, were spotted attending another big event in the country: Sweet September’s first Denim Jungle stop.

Fans of the rock band were stunned to see the two royalties in the said concert. Although the two sat in secluded seats in the stadium, they still attracted attention. Some concertgoers managed to capture pictures and short clips of the royalties enjoying the band’s performance– mostly Princess Astrid.

The usual contrast between the royal sisters is evident during their presence. Princess Astrid sported a rock-themed outfit with her oversized black leather jacket, red graphic tank top, flare jeans, and platform boots. On the other hand, Princess YN stayed true to her classy fashion style, wearing a black and white-collared Prada dress and knee-high boots. Both princesses wore black sunglasses during the whole event. The youngest sang and danced along to Sweet September’s tracks while the crown princess just nods her head to the beat.

Worry not! Princess Astrid made Princess YN jump and dance along with her during the band’s performance of their hit song, My Fair Lady.

“You two will have your own entrance and exit spots. Ronnie and Ben would accompany you two to the entrance and would meet you at the same gate after the concert.”

Your father’s trusty courtier, Eddie, guided you and your sister with what you’re supposed to do. There were rules you have to remember. Especially since Astrid practically begged your parents to not have bodyguards with her in this event. Your father only agreed to let her come if you come too, knowing that you rarely go out outside of your royal duties. But since you love your sister, you agreed to go even though you don’t really listen to Astrid’s types of music.

After the closing of Zafiro’s Royal Games earlier this day, your parents left for a conference in Scotland. That reason made you in charge of your younger sister. But since you two don’t really live in a simple household, you are still looked after by your Royal Staff for your safety.

“Is that all, Uncle?”

Astrid already had her arms crossed as she asked that. It’s been fifteen minutes since your car arrived in front of this secret entrance to the concert. But because of the King’s instructions, you and your sister are now itching in your seats to go.

Eddie smiled, noticing your sister’s tone, “I know you are excited about this concert, Your Royal Highness. But His Majesty still has one last message… and this is a very important one so listen.”

Your sister is ready to let out an exaggerated sigh. You are ready to calm down her rising shoulders. But Eddie continued,

“Please remind my lovely girls to enjoy the night amidst my tiring instructions. Take pictures and sing along. I would love to hear stories from them about this very important concert– based on what my Astrid said– when I and my queen get back from our short trip to Scotland. Follow what your Uncle Eddie says.”

A small smile formed on your lips with that. Finally, Eddie lets you two go with your bodyguards until the gate. Then, Gerald, a nice concert staff, welcomed you into the venue and led you and your sister to your seats.

“Oh, my god. I cannot believe Papa let us come here alone.” your sister said as she slipped the Xyloband into her wrist.

“I know…” your voice trailed off when you heard the people singing along to the song playing not too far away. You turned to the staff, “Excuse me, is the concert starting already?”

“No, Ma’am. We’re just playing the band’s music videos before they perform on stage. But they will be performing in a few minutes.”

You nodded with that. You went to concerts before, but not like this one. You liked jazz and classical music and would always try to go to concerts whenever you can. Those concerts are very much different than this band’s.

“These are your seats, Your Royal Highnesses,” Gerald spoke.

“Thank you so much.” you and Astrid said as you walked to the two empty seats.

With that, the staff left you. The seats are not that close or far from the main stage and it’s in the center. For safety purposes, your father and the security team agreed to not put you two in the floor spots where you can see the band better. Still, Astrid finds these spots great.

You assumed your father pulled some strings to make this possible since you heard from Astrid that the tickets were sold out as soon as it’s started selling. It made you wonder what’s good in Sweet September. You probably heard about them before, mainly because Astrid’s a rock-music enthusiast, but you don’t really know anything about them. Except that they recently worked with UNICEF for a campaign focused on cyberbullying. But you know nothing about their music.

“Oh, look at that! Look at those signs!”

Your sister was laughing while she points her finger somewhere. Your eyes followed where she was pointing.

DEAR CARTER, I’M A DRUMMER TOO. LET ME ROCK YOU! ;)

I SOLD MY CAR FOR THIS

MARRY ME MINGYU

HAIL KING WOOSUNG

CAN Y’ALL BE MY VALENTINE <3

Among those aggressive signs, there is one that made your eyes stretch wide and look away.

JUNGKOOK LET ME PUT OIL ON YOUR ABS

What was that supposed to mean? You wanted to ask Astrid but she was already talking to another fan who’s seating beside her. The said fan seemed surprised and delighted at the same time when she locked eyes with you for a second. You just smiled. As a highly-regarded crown princess, you know that they least expect you to show up in a rock concert next to them.

You then turned to your other side, where you immediately locked eyes with a lady who seemed a bit older than you. She instantly looked away and slowly looked back after a few seconds. She probably thought you were not looking at her anymore. But you are. And you can tell who she is by her awkward aura and stiff movements.

Part of showing respect to royalties, the public cannot talk to you until you speak with them first. So you decided to say something directly.

“Did the King hire you?” you asked her in a small whisper.

You don’t Astrid to hear it. You want her to focus on the fact that she is free from your parents’ overprotectiveness tonight. You can see the hesitation on her face but you can already tell that she is a secret security Eddie hired.

“It’s fine. I understand.” you gave her a reassuring smile. “Please, enjoy the concert too.”

The woman nods and bows subtly. You turned away. Astrid already has new friends. Between you two, she definitely is the friendlier one. It’s not like you are hostile. But she is just more carefree than you. Ever since you were a kid, you already followed the rules by the book. You know that you are in line for the throne and you need to be rightful for it. So you always try to be professional in your duties. You studied and work for your country.

“It’s a surprise to see you in here, Your Royal Highness.” one of Astrid’s new friends said.

“Please, just call me Astrid or you can add that princess title if you’re uncomfortable with calling me by name.” she quipped and they laughed. “Actually, the King only let me come here when Princess YN agreed to accompany me.”

Her friends’ mouths all formed into a small o. You waved at them, and they bow their heads. Suddenly, the lights slowly dimmed down and everyone began screaming– including Astrid. To say that your sister is excited was an understatement. It’s like she slept with a hanger in her mouth with how wide she’s smiling. Your cheeks hurt for her. But you’re happy to see her happy.

Taps on the microphone can be heard before someone cleared their throat, building up everyone’s excitement. You stood there, just listening to them and observing.

“Everyone, welcome to the denim jungle!”

Someone began playing a good riff on a bass guitar. The band’s silhouette is recognizable on stage. In the first beat of the drum, the lights snapped open. There, your eyes directly spotted the lead vocalist.

Droplets of sweat made his skin feel gluey as he ran his hand through his damp dark hair. His plain form-fitting white top is almost useless with how it almost got transparent with his body. His chest heaves as he removes his earpiece.

“Great show tonight, boys!”

A staff greeted them on their way down from the stage. After almost three hours of singing, playing with instruments, and interacting with the audience, Jungkook can finally feel relief in his body. With his throat feeling a little sore earlier, he was careful with it throughout the whole concert.

“Okay, let’s take a picture first!” a staff declared.

Jungkook, Carter, Mingyu, and Woosung lined up and posed for a couple of pictures that their staff would post later. After that, the four talked about their performance as they cool off.

“My earpiece is a mess.” Woosung shared. “I cannot hear the drums well. I think it stopped working for a few seconds during Blue Skies.”

“Okay, we have extra of those. You can test your new one in your next rehearsals.” Tara, their manager, responded.

The others shared their thoughts for tonight. Jungkook just listened for the sake of his throat. When he felt it getting strained, he cleared his throat and reached for a bottle of water.

“How are you feeling now?” Mingyu tapped his shoulder.

“The same,” he answered shortly. “It didn’t feel better or worse than earlier.”

“Well, let’s go back to the hotel to let our Jungkook rest,” Carter replied.

The others agreed before standing up from the soft couch. Jungkook is already heading straight to their dressing room when Tara spoke.

“By the way, you had very special guests tonight. It made tonight’s tag trend worldwide on Twitter.”

Being trending is not new with the group. Ever since they started the tour a month ago, they have been on various social media trend lists every other day. They also had bid celebrities and personalities as part of the audience before.

“Who? The king?” Mingyu joked, making the others chuckle.

Tara clicked her tongue, “Eh, close. It’s his daughters, the royal princesses.”

The boys stopped in their tracks. Even Jungkook froze. He did not even notice his members simultaneously turning their heads in his direction. As if they were waiting for him to say something. Instead, it was Tara who spoke again.

“Maybe we can meet them.”

All while the concert was happening, a fan who was also present in the event posted a stolen picture of you and Astrid. It led to your name and Astrid’s trending. Fans were excited to see royalties in such an event.

@/rockjeykey: no one told me princess astrid is a fan

@/denimparty: SOMEONE TELL JUNGKOOK ABOUT THIS

@/CRAYONNO7: YOOOOO i was just a few seats next to them! THEY ARE SO NICE AND FUN I HAD SMALL TALKS WITH THEM PRINCESS YN SAID SHE LIKES MY BAND SHIRT

Replying to @/CRAYONNO7

- @/eunwoobass: ur so lucky!!!

@/ASTRIDLOML: i’d like to think yn is astrid’s forever chaperone in events 🤣

Replying to @/ASTRIDLOML

- @/crownprincessyn: haha going to a rock concert is not so yn 😆😆

@/multifandommyg: imagine having zafiro’s princesses as your fans

@/sweetmonthof9th: i want to see the boys' reactions 💀

@/cartermatters: lolololol mingyu would be teasing the hell out of jk

@/ZafiroRoyaltyNews: Princesses YN and Astrid attended Sweet September’s concert after today’s royal events! 💜✨ #DenimJungleInZF [insert photos]

@/SweetSeptember_twt: Hey! Hey! Hey! Rubies are red. Sapphires are blue. You guys are a gem that is hard to find! A big 💜 to Zafiro. Thank you all for coming tonight! #DenimJungleInZF

“Thank you so much!”

Your mouth felt dry. You lost track of how many times you gulped throughout the whole performance as your eyes focused on someone. You felt like in a haze– a very hot one.

Jungkook.

That’s his name, right? Whoever he is, he has the prettiest voice. You rarely listen to their genre of music but you managed to be entertained the whole time. But you don’t know why. When you saw him in that white shirt after he removed his leather jacket on stage, your brain stopped working for seconds. It’s probably because you didn’t expect him to have that arm sleeve tattoo.

It’s so pretty.

He’s so pretty.

“Oh! That was so much fun! Thank you so much for going here with me.” Astrid cut off your thoughts. “I know this isn’t your type of music. So, I really appreciate you here with me.”

She jumped to hug you and you hugged her back, trying to cleanse off the thoughts in your mind. You just excuse your reaction now as a shock since this is your first rock concert. After saying goodbye to her friends, Astrid pulled you with her out of your seats. She continued talking to you about her excitement. You tried to listen but failed. You just remembered that lead singer playing with that guitar like his life depended on it. His fingers were smooth on playing that thing like he’s used to–

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Princess YN! Princess Astrid!”

Again, you snapped out of your thoughts. Both you and Astrid turned your head back when you heard your names. The lady who was next to you during the concert is now wearing her security earpiece. She was probably following you two since you walked out but you didn’t notice for obvious reason. She also looked at that someone who called for you.

That someone was also a concert staff. You read that card that she wears in her lanyard that says, MANAGER. She was almost out of breath when you stopped.

“Oh, I apologize for the informalities, Your Royal Highnesses.” she tried to speak with her hands on her knees, to catch her breath. After some seconds, she continued, “I am Tara Montez, Sweet September’s manager.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Montez.” you smiled, offering your hand for a shake, which she accepted. Astrid also did the same thing.

“Nice to meet you too, Princess YN and Princess Astrid. Thank you so much for being here!” You see Tara paused. “It was totally unexpected and rare to see princesses at the band’s concerts. Uhm… We were hoping the band could meet you. They are big fans of your country. It would be an honor for them to meet you two even just for a short time.”

Astrid audibly gasped. You looked at her and her eyes say it all. You can even see the sparkles in her eyes. You can also hear your bodyguard communicating through her wireless device. You’re sure Eddie would definitely want you to walk out of the venue now but you know your sister would love the offer. It’s a one-time thing.

So before your bodyguard can interfere, you answered.

“Of course.”

Back in the green room, Jungkook and the other members now showered and changed into their casual clothes. Carter and Woosung munched on the chips they saw on the table. Mingyu was giggling as he secretly takes a clip of Jungkook walking back and forth.

“What should we do?” he asked them, trying to keep his cool. But everyone can tell, he’s failing. He just never thought he would meet any royalty– you.

Out of distraction from the chips, Carter replied, “Curtsy?”

Before the others can laugh with that, the door opened and they immediately stood up straight. Carter and Woosung wiped their hands and even sanitized them. Mingyu wiggled his eyebrows at Jungkook. The latter gave him an annoyed look.

“And this is Sweet September.” Tara, who got in first, introduced them.

Jungkook’s heart almost stopped when he sees you entering with your small smile. Every photograph posted in the news and articles didn’t give your beauty any justice as he found you more attractive now you’re in the same room as him. When you locked eyes with him, he swore his heart fluttered.

Following what Carter said, Jungkook was ready to curtsy when you spoke.

“Oh… Uhm, we don’t really do that here, Mister. That’s more of like the UK’s thing. A bow would be fine.”

Everyone in the room laughed except you, who tried to be professional. But you found it cute. Especially when you saw that tint of red forming across his cheeks.

“Oh— uhm— My apologies, my quee– princess.”

“It’s your royal highness, dumbass.” his bandmate whisper-shouted at the back.

Your sister scoffed, finding the lead vocalist’s mistake as funny. You looked at her sternly. She acted appropriately again. You looked back at the boys again, trying to break your sight away from Jungkook.

“Thank you so much for coming to our country. I’ve never seen a crowd as energetic as that.” you began the conversation to break the ice. “It’s a surprise for me to hear our people here singing almost every song in your set. I just learned they are a big fan of your group.”

“How about you, Your Royal Highness,” Jungkook asked. He doesn’t know where he’s getting all this strength to talk to you. But he just knows that this might be his first and last.

You replied with the truth, “Oh– I– this is actually my first time listening to your music. Princess Astrid right here just invited me to go here with her.”

“She’s more of a jazz fan.” Astrid shared and they nodded.

Before the conversation continues, your bodyguard spoke, “Excuse me. Madams. The Royal Staff is asking us to go out now.“

Woosung was quick to request when they heard that, “Can we take a picture with you, Royal Highnesses?”

“Of course!”

This time, Astrid replied with uncontained excitement. You stood in between the four members. Mingyu was supposed to be next to you but he pulled Jungkook to exchange places with him. Jungkook instantly smelled the sweet and flowery scent just by being next to you while you ignored that strange feeling in your stomach when you felt your arms touched.

“Okay, one… two… three!”

The band stood in line once again after that. You and Astrid shook hands with them in turns. You introduced yourselves and so they did too. Ever since you were a kid, when you began attending public royal events, you always followed the royal protocol. In every person you met, you would shake their hand while having good eye contact. Another part of the protocol is the public cannot physically touch you unless you initiated it first. So, you did.

The boys seemed surprised but showed their respect by bowing their heads while you shook hands with each of them. You just hoped your hand was not stone cold since you felt like it was since you stood in front of their lead vocalist. But when it comes to the last person in the line, Jungkook smoothly managed to kiss the back of your hand when you offer it for a handshake.

You were taken aback by the action. Not because he did it. But because it felt something else. The kiss was feather-like. It was light and brief. But you felt something electric run through your veins the moment his lips touched your skin. Your heart shivered. Then, it suddenly beat fast and you’re scared that everyone around you can hear it. You gulped as you made eye contact with him again.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” his deep and slightly hoarse voice said. It made you feel things you don’t know and you hate and like it at the same time. “I’ve read a lot about you.”

You pursed your lips, “You did?”

“Yeah.”

You wanted to ask and know more about what he reads about you. But before you can say anything again,

“The Royal Courtier is waiting, ma’am.” the guard interrupted.

You tried not to show annoyance. But sighed.

“Well, we shall go. Our staff is waiting outside.” you smiled. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in our country. Congratulations on your concert.”

They bowed and you turned around with Astrid, ready to leave the room.

“Wait!” Mingyu stopped you one more time. “Is there any way we can reach out to you and invite you girls again to our future events? E-mail? Phone number? Telephone number?”

Your sister was over the moon hearing that while you tried to hide the smirk forming on your lips. Jungkook knows what his friend is doing and he is somewhat thankful for Mingyu.

“The only way to contact us is through Zafiro’s Royal Communication Office. I believe their e-mail and telephone numbers are on their websites.” you sounded like you were teasing. But you just honestly found their attempt funny. “Other than that, feel free to send us a letter through the mail.”

Of course, you would not give your personal number. Jungkook thought. Do you even have that? You probably have your own assistant who answered calls for you. It is known to almost everyone that even though every royalty in Zafiro has their own social media accounts, you just use them to share your duties and advocacies.

“Again, it was nice meeting your band. We hope you come back to our country soon.”

You left the room, sharing knowing glances with your sister.

While on their way back to their hotel, Jungkook scrolls on his Instagram account. His notifications were on blast as usual. But something caught his attention when he almost exit the app.

97.sapphire is now following you!

His eyes squinted. He clicked on the account. It only has twelve followers and two posts. It follows nothing. The account’s two posts are photos of artworks. One is a watercolor painting of a flower field during sunset. While the other is a detailed pencil drawing of what seemed like a coffee shop. Then, another notification popped out.

97.sapphire sent you a message.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow before he clicked on it. Without really expecting anything, he reads the message. As he go through the words, his eyebrow lowered while his lips formed into a smile.

let me know what do u want to read more about this pair! :) thank you so much for reading.

taglist rules

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROCKSTAR TAGLIST

@heartjiminie @rbrm094 @rjsmochii @jjkreblog @sugaslittlekookies @saintsugar @thvlover7 @alpha-mommy69 @natalia-rmnva @coralmusicblaze @stupendouscookiehumanmug @namgoogieee @yoonjinhusbands @borahaeb1ch @lilliankoo @0rubyrose0

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writingwithcolor · 1 year ago

Text

Am I handling the black woman character’s murder well?

@selfdxd2 asked:

Hello! My current project is a crime fiction set in KY, USA in which the instigating action is the death of a young black woman (W), with the first half being another young woman (L) investigating her disappearance and how it correlates with the disappearance of her close friend. That friend (P) is later found alive after having been kidnapped because he witnessed the crime, and is the POV character of the second half. He is also a white man, and him being white is relevant to other aspects of the story. My intention is for the "credit" for solving W's death to go almost entirely to L (who is also a woman of color, specifically Romani), and for the tragedy to be centered around the unfair loss of life and the pain of her parents and others who knew W rather than how bad P feels about it. My main cast also has two other prominent black women with arcs that extend outside this tragedy. All of this is intended to lend to one of the story's major themes of social invisibility vs visibility. So does this exploration of that stray into harmful territory from the outset? I know successfully keeping away from any white manpain traps will take active caution while actually writing the story and I intend to get sensitivity readers as I work on it, but I wanted to get some feedback on my starting point before going too far down that road. Thanks so much for all you do!

It is important for us to know why this young Black woman was murdered to give specific advice.

Was it racially motivated, gender motivated, or both?

Wrong place, wrong time?

Did someone take revenge?

Was she involved in something insidious?

Was it truly an accident?

Depending on the reason, you should explore and acknowledge this violence and the existing societal problem behind it. For help, see the crime stats on violence against Black women.

…and for the tragedy to be centered around the unfair loss of life and the pain of her parents and others who knew W rather than how bad P feels about it.

Yes, give a voice to the people most affected by her death. Other Black women, people, and Women of Color. This will help further not make it about the feelings of a white man. He is absolutely a victim of the crime too, being kidnapped, so his trauma does matter and should be tended to. But ultimately, he gets to live.

On that note, his life being worth kidnapping vs. ending begs the question; why wasn’t he murdered while the Black woman’s life had to end? And for representation purposes, why couldn’t it be the other way around (Where the Black woman lives and witnesses the crime, and the white man dies)?

This is why knowing your reasoning for her death is so important.

Otherwise, if she was thoughtlessly murdered, it does feel like her life was incredibly devalued in your story due to her being a Black woman. It’s a serious and true problem, so I'm not saying not to write this. This just needs careful exploring. If you’re choosing to bring this real life problem into your story, it deserves full and respectful acknowledgement.

Please check out our resources on writing tragic material, Black suffering and abuse and avoiding exploitation.