#they would do anything for each other no hesitation

[yoongelectric]

Drunk in love — LN4

~ believe when i say that you’ll know once you taste it

• part 1

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: the night where you and lando just wanted to forget about each other but ended up getting closer than ever

genre: smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: curse words, jealousy, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex, breeding kink

notes: english isn’t my first language so i’m sorry ig there’s any mistakes. i might have gotten a little excited with the lenght of this fic, part 2 will be shorter

The music plays loudly within the walls of your room as you and your best friend get ready for the night. After hours and hours of trying to convince you, Olivia had finally made it, not that you weren't a party girl, in fact you adored it, the feeling of being drunk, the people, the dancing, the music, flirting with strangers, you used to spend the whole week looking forward to go to your favorite club but for months now all those good times have lost all meaning when all you can see is your best friend going from girl to girl every weekend without any type of remorse. And for months you’ve been trying to do the same thing to stop thinking about him, only achieving the opposite.

You can’t blame those girls, in fact, you understand them perfectly, not just because Lando is rich and famous, that's the least important thing really, but in any crowd he's always the first man you see, he's handsome, attractive, even magnetic, the kind of man no girl would ever say no to, and you were painfully aware of that, because of course, you were one of those girls who could never say no to him.

That's what bothers you the most, because no matter how many dates you go on, how many strangers you flirt or sleep with, how much time you go without seeing him or speaking to him, you always notice how they are not him, how they don't have his laugh, his eyes, his charisma, his charm, his way of hugging you, his way of making you forget everything and everyone, no matter how good they are in bed, none of them can make you feel the warmth that you feel when he simply holds your hand or rests his hand on your waist to help you walk through a room full of people, and it's already getting tiring to hope that at some point that's going to change.

While you finish applying the sluttiest red lipstick you have, and check that you are not missing anything in your purse, you look at your outfit in the mirror, a little black dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, actually, if you are not careful you can flash anyone at any moment, you feel attractive, you know you look pretty, but you also know that neither this dress, nor the makeup you spent so much time on, nor your perfect hair will be enough for Lando to look at you the way you want.

Olivia seems to notice the sad expression on your face, "y/n don't make that face, if Lando is stupid enough to not make a move on you then he doesn't deserve you to spend another second thinking about him" she says handing me a shot of vodka that I swallow without hesitation

“Do you think I'm in love with him because I want to, Olivia? If it was up to me I would only see him as the friend he sees in me, that's what he wants, but it seems I can't.”

“if you want to believe that he sees you only as a friend then go on, i think he’s just a pussy” Olivia shouts from the door as I grab my keys and follow her.

-

Lando stared at his glass of whiskey, lost in thought, looking at the time on his watch from time to time thinking about when you would arrive, he was dying to see you, he didn't know if he was imagining it but he had this feeling that you’d been avoiding him all week, you didn't answer his messages, and if he called you, you quickly ended the conversation saying that you were busy, you had always been very bad at lying, who can be busy on a Saturday morning? He knew that his doubts would be solved at any moment and oh how he wished it was just his head fucking with him.

In the distance he saw a girl who he could have sworn was you, but after looking at her for a few seconds he slapped himself internally for having mistaken you for someone else, how could you be that girl? She doesn't have your grace, nor the light that seems to follow you everywhere making you look untouchable, the people around her don't turn around automatically and he doesn't feel that comfort in his heart when looking at her, but what's the point anyway? None of them make him feel anything like that, none of them are like you and he knows it.

He knows that you are the girl for him, he has known it since he won his first race and as soon as he crossed the finish line the first thing he thought was if you would be proud of him. He knows that he will probably love you all his life and that without you his destiny is to wait for someone to entertain him enough to not think about you all the time. He knows how sad that is and he's not sure if he can continue like this for much more, but he can't condemn you to what a relationship with him means, he barely has time for himself and how could he try to have a relationship with you if he can't give you all the time you deserve? How can he try to be with you if it means you have to be moving from one side of the world to the other all the time or not see him as often as he would like?

If everything was different he would have jumped right into your arms months ago, but you deserve much more than what he can give you.

Max's voice brings him out of his thoughts telling him something painfully true "so you’re already looking for a girl who looks like Y/N to spend the night?" How much more time can he spend trying to find you in another person? probably a lot less than he thinks.

-

He was hypnotized, watching you dance with your friends, running your hands over your body, laughing and looking so sexy, since you arrived he couldn't stop looking at you, a feeling between how bothered he was by that sinful dress that hugged your body in all the right places and the concern for the cold greeting he had received, he was gripping his glass tightly and using all his will not to grab you by the waist and pull you against him, he wanted to ask you the reason behind your actions, how were you able to stay away from him, when it felt impossible for him to do that.

It was then that he saw him, tall, with a bright smile, just the type of boy you've always liked, he approached you and spoke to you so carefree, calm, without the all the nerves Lando felt every time he had to get too close to you. He doesn't know what the boy said to you that made your laugh echo throughout all the VIP area but he was sure as hell it couldn't be that funny, how could your eyes shine like that looking at someone that two seconds ago you didn't know existed? how could you look at a stranger the way Lando had always wanted for you to look at him? oh how oblivious he was

As soon as he tried to get up to stop the situation, he felt the hand of the same girl he had seen earlier on his shoulder and as some type of divine signal it was then that he came to his senses. If he really loved you, he should let you live your own life.

Back to where you were, the nameless boy grinded against you while grabbing your hip and the two of you danced to the rhythm of the music, he was cute, sure, he was nice and funny, but in your drunken state your head seemed to betray you making you think about Lando over and over again, each song seemed to be talking about him, about you, about the two of you, and just when you were trying to get away from the boy it occurred to you to look at him, At this point you should be used to it, glass in hand, a girl on his lap, kissing so passionately it made you want to cry.

You were fucking sick of it, sick of the looks of pity from all your friends, of not being able to get mad at the girl, or Lando, you could only be mad at yourself for having these stupid feelings and not being able to settle for his friendship that at the end of the day was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and you really don't know how or when but you were glued to a wall kissing the guy, he was grabbing your ass tightly and biting your lip while you were pulling his hair trying to understand the situation you found yourself in, with far too many drinks on you, the jealousy, shame and unreciprocated feelings you felt for your best friend, you decided to lose yourself in the touch of the boy you had just met.

When the girl moved away from him to take a breath he saw you, your hair messy, your dress rolled up and that son of a bitch's hands grabbing you just like he would like to do, he didn't even have the decency to take you somewhere more private, but again, who was he to get involved in what you were doing if he knew that he couldn't give you what you deserved anyway, so he grabbed the girl's face and continued kissing her, but he couldn't stop thinking about you, the weight of the girl on his lap made him wish it was you, Lando wanted you to grab his hair just like you did with the boy you were kissing, he knew he could make you feel much better than him, he would take you somewhere empty because only he should be the only one to see you this way, he would grab you by the waist and pull you against him, he would kiss you with so much feelings that you wouldn't doubt his love for you, the erection that grew underneath his pants made him imagine how good you would feel rubbing yourself on him and he was sure it would feel like heaven listening to you moaning his name when he went down to kiss your neck.

“fuck, y/n just like that, baby” he didn't expect that it was going to be your name the one that escaped his lips.

The look of confusion and shock from the girl who was sitting on his lap brought him back to reality, and he doesn't know if he was suddenly sober or if all the alcohol that was in his system hit him at once but his body, his mind and all his senses told him to look for y/n, so apologizing to the girl and getting her off of him, he began to look for his love.

He looked around but there was no sign of her, her friends were still dancing in the same place but she and the boy he had seen her with earlier had disappeared, he asked Max but he told him that he had lost sight of them ago. For a while, when he saw Olivia, he realized that if anyone could help him, it was her.

he got into the crowd of dancing girls trying to get her friend's attention, "Olivia, hey, where did y/n go?" He said when the girl finally saw him

"Lando, I think you should leave her alone, she's busy" your friend knew that today you just needed to forget about him.

"Did she leave with him? Just tell me if she's still here, please" Lando was desperate, he feared that if he didn't find you now he would never have the courage to confess his feelings to you again

Olivia finally gave up "she just told me she was going to his house, I don't think they're gone yet" she took a deep breath and added "she's trying to forget you, I know deep down you know that, don't do anything if you know you're gonna hurt her, Lando."

"Thank you, i promise i will not" he said before running to the club’s door

You don't know why you agreed to this, but you found yourself walking towards the car of the boy you just met today, do you really want this? you don't know, in your head you just think that maybe this is it, maybe he can make you forget about Lando, in fact, you should be happy, he is cute, hot, funny, attentive and respectful, why aren't you happy? And why do you feel so relieved when you feel a hand on your shoulder stopping you?

"y/n, please don't go with him" you turn around when you hear the familiar voice and you feel your stomach do a thousand flips when you see the person you've been thinking about all night.

You pause to look at him before speaking, he looks agitated, in a hurry even, as if he was going to run out of time, but even in that state he is the most attractive man you have ever seen, some buttons on his shirt are undone showing his chest, as if the slightly see-through fabric wasn't enough, his tanned skin glowing under the night lights and you don't understand why he has to come out of nowhere now to ruin anyone else for you.

"Lando, is everything okay?" Your voice denotes concern and Lando just wants to have you in his arms.

"lov- sorry, y/n" he corrected himself "don't go with him, I need to talk to you, please, I need you to give me a chance"

"what are you talking about?" Your words came out like a whisper, you had to be misunderstanding him, or not?

"Sorry mate, this isn't your fault, but I love her, she's the love of my life, I can't let her go."

Suddenly you remembered the boy who was there with you, you looked over your shoulder, you only saw confusion in his gaze and you felt sorry for how he had ended up in this situation just because of bad luck, you shared a look and the boy understood that he had to leave.

"Lando, if this is some kind of joke or you're just doing it because that girl rejected you, I want you to know that it's not funny."

Lando felt a pang of pain in his chest, what had he been doing wrong all this time for you to believe him capable of playing with you like that?

"this isn’t a joke, y/n, I'm tired of pretending that I don't just love you, baby." he said taking a few steps until he was right in front of you "I don't know what I did for you to not want to see me or talk to me, but let me fix it, even if you don't feel the same way, I need you to treat me like before, I miss you love"

"I was just trying to forget you, Lando" the tears began to fall down your face and you didn't know if you felt shame, joy, anger or relief, if he felt the same, why had he made you see him with all those girls before? Why hadn't he spoken sooner? Why hadn't you spoken sooner?

you felt his lips on yours, and for the second time that night you were kissing someone, but this time everything made sense, you could only think about lando, you were right where you wanted to be, you were aware of his touch in every place where his body made contact with yours and time seemed to have stopped, you were addicted to the feeling of finally having him all to yourself and you didn't want to stop even to take a breath or move to another place.

He felt the same way and with all his strength he moved away just enough to mumble "let's get out of here."

-

The car ride to your house felt like a fever dream, you wanted to talk to each other but you had so many ideas in your head that you didn't know what to say first, you wanted to touch each other but you didn't want to spend another minute without being in a place just for the you two, so all you did was share looks of love and happy giggles

You two were finally home and it seemed like you were glued to each other, the heat in the room was becoming more and more unbearable as you kissed, grabbed and caressed each other, thanks to muscle memory you managed to get to your room and Lando just pushed you to the bed before climbing into it straddling you

"So pretty, baby, I can't believe I finally have you" he said kissing your neck and lifting your dress asking permission to take it off.

You nodded silently and Lando wasted no time in removing the garment that covered your body. He began to run kisses and licks over your shoulders, collarbones, arms and stomach until he left you desperate and trembling beneath him. You knew he was enjoying it but you had waited so long for this that you couldn't stand him not touching you right where you wanted, losing your patience you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra.

“nuh huh, that's my job, precious, let me enjoy you just the way I want” He said kissing, sucking and biting your neck, his words sending shivers to the wet areas of your skin.

"Lando, please, you're going to have plenty of time to enjoy me in every way you want, just fuck me already, I can't wait." As you spoke you couldn't help but arch your back when lando gently bit your collarbone making a moan escape your mouth.

you heard him laugh cockily "plenty of time? does that mean we're going on a second date?" and just when you thought about slapping him for his bad joke you felt him cup your pussy relieving half of the tension you felt.

He lived to please you and if you wanted to get to the point that's what he would do, he quickly got rid of your bra attacking one of your nipples with his tongue, circling the muscle over it before taking it all in his mouth, moaning softly into it, after a while he moved to your other nipple, repeating his actions, but paying attention to the previous one with his big, rough, veiny hands, you were a moaning mess, and every once in a while you had to remind yourself that this was really happening and it wasn't a product of your imagination.

"mmh Lando that feels so good, please don't stop" you said trying to reach his member to touch it over his clothes, but you instantly felt him pin your arms over your head

"not yet, y/n tonight is all about you, let me make you feel good" he said moving down to your hips leaving kisses right on the waistline of your panties

He stopped to look at the lace panties you were wearing, black and all see-through, they were sexy but at the same time elegant and Lando felt like he would faint right there.

"these are so pretty, it's a shame i have to take them off," he said, taking your underwear on each side and removing it in one go.

It was at that moment that he saw you naked for the first time, you looked so hot but also innocent, the look of desire and at the same time love in your eyes could not be compared to anything that Lando had seen before, and he couldn't believe he had been missing on this for so long.

He ran a hand over your wet center and hissed at the sensation.

"baby, please do something, I'm going crazy" you begged, pushing your hips against his hand, trying to get more friction.

"well, since you're in such a hurry, god, we have to work on your patience, love." Without warning, Lando put a finger inside your hole and at the same time went down to lick your clit, while leaving his finger still inside you, he licked your bundle of nerves from side to side, up and down and circling his tongue against you, the euphoria you felt at that moment didn’t allow you to speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth were desperate breaths and moans of his name repeatedly. Every time you dared to look between your legs and saw your friend's piercing eyes you felt yourself embarrassingly quick getting closer to the edge.

"Lando, I need more, please, I want to cum."

so you felt a second finger inside you, he began to move them at a soft and strong pace, curving them inside you in the most delicious way, it didn't take long for you to finish all over his mouth and fingers, with a scream of his name and pulling him against you by his hair, he continued sucking your clit until you pushed his head due to overstimulation.

“You taste so good, my love, please let me do it again” he said kissing your inner thighs trying to open your legs again.

"another time, babe, I want you to fuck me, I need to feel you" you said pulling him from his shirt, you were feeling a little self conscious as you noticed how he was fully dressed and you were naked in front of him, so you unbuttoned his pants begging him to take them off, he, always willing to please you, pulled them down at the same time with his boxers, letting his dick come out freely in front of your face.

None of all the dirty nights you spent thinking about him could prepare you for what was in front of your eyes, his member, the perfect length, thick and veiny, with his tip all wet, seemed to beg you to put it in your mouth.

And that’s what you did, kneeling on the bed in front of him, licking the tip vaguely and without wasting much time you started sucking on it. Lando grabbed your hair in a ponytail and allowed himself to enjoy the heat of your mouth.

You wanted to make him feel good, it was the only thing you could think at that moment, and when you looked up and saw his face contorted with pleasure, his head thrown back and tasted his salty precum you could only moan in satisfaction, the entire moment made you so wet again and your hole clenched around nothing.

Against all his desire and will, Lando removed his dick from your mouth, it felt so good, but he needed to fuck you, he needed to feel your wet walls around him, so once again he pushed you on the bed and put your legs on his shoulders.

"Are you ready?" The question felt like a joke, you had been ready for months.

"yes, so ready, please fuck me"

You felt his member press against your pussy and the wetness made it so easy for him to slide in all at once.

Both of you moaned in unison as you felt that you were finally where you belong, Lando stayed still for a moment to let you get used to the size and to take a breathe so he wouldn’t cum on the spot.

When he saw your desperate face and felt how you pushed your hips against him, Lando began to fuck you without mercy, hand on your neck choking you just the way you like it, grunts and moans escaping from his mouth, turning you on more and more.

"baby, please, I'm so close, you fuck me so so good, I love your dick so much, please" you didn't know what you were saying, you just knew that you didn't want anyone but him.

Lando couldn't help but laugh at your state, but he wasn't much better than you, feeling his orgasm getting closer, he removed his hand from your neck and began to draw circles on your clit, his thrusts were erratic and the trembling in his legs let you know that he wasn't going to last much longer.

"land-o, baby, cum inside, I need you to fill me" and with those simple words the two of you climaxed at the same time, white dots filled your vision and you could swear it was the longest orgasm you’ve ever had, when you came back to your senses, your friend removed his member from your hole and turned your positions so that you were on top of him.

"We should clean up" you said, ignoring your tiredness, trying to be responsible.

"Let's stay like this for a while, I need to hug you, hold you close" despite his tired tone you could hear him talking to you with a smile.

A few minutes passed and just when Lando was about to fall asleep, your words brought him out of his state.

"You know we'll have to talk about this tomorrow, right?"

And just like that, he remembered each and every reason why he hadn't done this before.

[vampzity]

all eyes on her | H.JS

★ DAY TWO: VOYEURISM WITH HAN ★

pairing: roommate! han jisung x f! reader

han has been your roommate for a year now, and you’re both been very good about each others privacy. but he’d never thought he’d catch you in such a vulnerable state.. or get off to it himself.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+!!, voyuerism, masturbation (fingering & jacking off), breast fondling, use of toys (a dildo), slight cursing? creampie mentioned, han’s a bit of a perv & sub, face riding, any other warnings i missed.

word count: 2.1k

Han walked into the apartment, knocking off his shoes tiredly. He had a long day of lectures and stupid meetings on campus and just wanted to lay in bed for the rest of the day.

It was quiet in the home, an odd feeling when it was of course a shared space between you and him. He placed his bag on the couch, being as quiet as he could assuming that you might’ve had the same thought he did and took a nap.

Han walked into the hallway, stopping by your door. A black laced pair of bra and panties hung against the door knob. His face burned red, knowing that this wasn’t something you normally did especially with a guy in the shared space. He hesitated for a moment, looking around to see if you were playing a cruel prank on him. But to his surprise, it seemed like a harmless mistake.

His hand reached out for the lingerie before his mind could even think of what to do. The lace danced on his fingers, making his cock twitch at the thought of you in them. The way your breast would perk up in them and the way your pussy would sit just right in them.

Just right ontop of him.

He brought the lingerie to his nose, taking a long breath. Your sweet vanilla perfume trailed on the fabrics, your cunt just dying to be tasted. Han was always a respectful roommate, and you two were good friends but unbeknownst to you, he had the hugest crush on you. To anyone else, it might’ve been obvious but you were a bit oblivious, assuming that he was just overly kind toward you.

Han scratched his head, placing your lingerie back on the door knob. He began to walk off, stopping as odd sounds filled his ears. He leaned against your door, hearing small whimpers and moans coming from what he assumed was you. Your voice was sweet and sultry, making him feel as if you were the pied piper and he was the snake.

His dick twitched underneath his sweatpants, practically throbbing at hearing you. He wondered what you were doing, how you were doing such a thing to yourself and why you were doing it alone. He could help you, in fact, Han would be more than grateful to help you let out your sexual frustrations.

He picked up the lingerie once again, holding it tightly in his hands as he opened your door just a bit, feeling relief as your moans drowned out the sound of the twisting and turning. He peeked into the dimly lit room, catching you sprawled on your bed. Lucky for him, the door was in the corner of your room while your headboard was against the same wall, leaving him with a perfect view of you without getting caught.

You were in your bathrobe— of course it was wide open, and you laid in it. Your whimpers were louder now that the door was open, making the boner in Han’s pants strengthen. He watched as you squeezed your breasts, your other hand moving at a quick pace against your cunt. The noises were like music to his ears, the sound of your slick enough to make him go crazy. You were so stuck in your own world, you could barely hear anything else around you.

At least that’s what he thought.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to spy on lady?”

Han froze, his eyes meeting yours as you wrapped your robe around your body. His face was now a deep red, watching as you made your way toward him with a tightly fitted robe now on you completely. You looked down at the lingerie in his hand, giggling as you grabbed onto his hand.

“Oh look, you found it!” You took the lingerie from him, giving him a sly look. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere, thank you Hannie.”

He nodded, a look of confusion painted across his face. You walked back to your bed, placing it on the end as you sat down. Han stood there in disbelief, unsure of what to do or even say. You weren’t mad? It didn’t seem like it, in fact you seemed unusually nonchalant about it.

Wouldn’t a girl be offended or feel uncomfortable that a man— let alone their roommate was watching them?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— well I guess it seems that way? I was just, I was walking by and I saw, no I heard— ugh.” He ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding any eye contact with you. “I’ll just leave you alone, I swear this won’t happen again— well, I know it should’ve never happened in the first place,”

“Han.”

He met your eyes, a reassuring smile on your face as you motioned him to you. He closed the door, walking to you and standing in front of your bed. You grabbed his hand, undoing your robe and placing his hand on your now exposed breast. Han felt his cheeks and ears glisten red as the warmth of your body met his own, the soft feeling of your skin in his hand.

“Well don’t be shy now, touch me.”

He looked up at you, eyes widening at your statement. You repositioned yourself, now sitting on your knees with your legs open just slightly. You slipped your hand between your thighs, being met with the warmth and wetness between your folds. You moved your hands over your clit, moaning softly as your cunt ached to be touched. Han watched as your head fell back, the sounds now louder than before as you were right in front of him.

His cock twitched beneath his sweatpants, still in shock at what was unfolding in front of him. He squeezed your breast softly, his other hand coming up to cup the other. You whimpered as his thumb toyed with your nipple, the pace becoming quicker against your sensitive bud.

Han was hard, so fucking hard. He couldn’t control it— who would when you were practically drowning in lust right in front of him.

“Hannie.”

You looked up at him, a soft doe look in your eyes that could’ve made him fall to his knees at whatever you asked. You continued to toy with your clit, your whimpers growing while his hands fondled at your chest.

“Gonna cum,” You fingered yourself softly, your other hand rubbing your bud in circles as you felt your high approaching. Han watched you in all your glory, his hands holding your tits softly. He watched your pace fasten, your chest rise and fall quickly as it all rushed over you. He didn’t know what to think; he never thought he’d be watching you in such a vulnerable state like this.

You let out a deep moan, your voice feeling like candy to his ears as the whimpers slowly trailed afterwards. You pulled your fingers from between your legs, your other hand holding his chin.

“Wanna taste, Hannie?” His eyes lit up like a dog seeing a bone, nodding his head as you smiled. You knew Han was soft-hearted, but sexually? It came as a small shock to you seeing how he practically worshipped you without any romantic title.

“Needy, huh? Open.”

Han followed without hesitation, opening his mouth slightly as you brought your fingers to his tongue. He sucked on your fingers softly, your juices coating his tongue. It was sweet, he’s dreamt of the day he could taste you, even feel you on the tip of his tongue. This was as close as he could get to you and he was perfectly fine with that. He would do anything you wanted, anything you asked for if it meant that you’d let him have a taste at you.

“Mm, wanna watch some more, Hannie?”

He quickly nodded, watching as you brought over your desk chair for him to sit at. You pulled your robe off while he sat down, letting it drop to the floor as you crawled back into your bed. Han’s face was basically a tomato at this point, seeming as if there was actual steam coming out of his ears from how heated he got.

You pulled out something from your drawer, giving Han a quick glance before showing it to him. It was a toy, a dildo at that. It wasn’t too big or small, but just the right size for you. You positioned it under you, sitting ontop as small moans escaped you.

His mind raced with the thoughts of him stuffing you full with his cock. How it would feel to have you clenching around him as you struggled to take in his length. Han was practically leaking at this point, desperate to get off as he watched you and within seconds, his sweatpants met the ground. He held his member in his hand, the aching making him throw his head back as he stroked it softly.

Your hands squeezed the comforter as you rode the toy, pants leaving your body as it pressed against your sweet spot. Han stroke himself to your rhythm, imagining it was you ontop of him.

“So good.” you mumbled.

Han met your gaze, watching as your tits jumped when you fastened your pace. It was such a beautiful sight to him; one he could’ve only thought of in his dreams. You leaned back a bit, your hands keeping you still behind you. Spreading your legs a bit more, his mouth nearly dropped. There it was in all its glory and it was so pretty to him. He had a front row seat, watching as the toy slipped in and out of your soaking core. It was a creamy sound, small drops leaking out of you.

“Hannie,” you moaned softly, groping your tits harshly as you continued to ride.

His small whimpers filled your ears, his eyes fixated on you as he stroked himself quickly. He was aching, begging, desperately trying to hold himself back from falling apart right there in front of you and it only made you weak. You brought your hand to your folds, running it over your clit.

“Hannie, gonna cum.”

Your movements got faster with every hit against your sweet spot. You felt a small tingle at your core, the moans escaping you only growing louder.

“Please watch me cum, Hannie.” You met his reddened face, obediently nodding his head.

“Am I pretty like this, Hannie? Tell me I’m pretty.”

His thumb rubbed the tip of his cock, watching you throw tour head back in pleasure as you bounced happily against the toy.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty baby.”

His strokes fastened again to your pace, watching as you creamed all over the toy. You began to whimper his name— once, twice, a third time, over and over. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, and you felt so hot with Han watching your every move. You pulled the dildo out of you, legs shaking as you continued to abuse your clit.

“Taste me, Hannie.”

Without any hesitation, Han quickly pulled up his pants and climbed under your hovering body, letting you sit against his face. You rubbed your clit against his nose, his tongue lapping at your juices. You moaned out his name, hands tugging at his hair. His nose brushed against you, harder, faster as you felt your high coming and this time you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Cum— fuck, Hannie, I’m… oh my god.” With a final thrust you came undone a top of him. Han held your thighs down with his arms, tonguing your core softly.

You met eye contact with him, whimpers escaping you as you realized he wasn’t done with you. This was a moment he’s waited— no, dreamt of. To feel your body, to taste your soft skin. It wasn’t something he was willing to give up so easily and you knew that. He grabbed your hips, moving them against his face as his lips wrapped around your swollen bud.

“Hannie, please.. fuck.”

Your sweet moans were all he wanted. He just wanted to make you feel good, give you something that you simply couldn’t fufill on your own. He sucked on your pussy, your sweet juices filling his mouth as your hands raked through his hair.

“You’re so good to me Hannie. Don’t stop..”

You moved your hips with the rhythm of his tongue, panting like a dog as he abused you. You were practically suffocating him at this point, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make you happy, give you what you deserved. He adored you, and he was willing to do anything it took to prove it to you.

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a/n: this is definitely one of my favs from the event that i’ve written hehe

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[hisfavegirl]

Battle Of Desire - Maegor Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : Maegor the Cruel. King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your brother. Your obsession. For years, you had watched him from the shadows. Admired him. Desired him. Even when others whispered of his brutality, his ruthlessness, you had seen him for what he truly was—a king who would not bend, would not yield. And more importantly, a king who deserved a queen unlike any other. And who better than you?

Word Count : 11.9k

Warning : Targcest (brother-sister), Sex before marriage, Rough Sex (more like animalistic to me), P in V, Dom!Reader, Dom!Maegor, Chocking.

Maegor Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The Red Keep stood tall, its freshly renovated walls gleaming under the sun, a fortress of power and dominance—just like its ruler. You walked through its halls, the sound of your footsteps barely audible against the distant clang of swords. The scent of newly polished stone and burning torches lingered in the air, a reminder of the blood and sweat that had gone into rebuilding this stronghold. His stronghold.

As you stepped onto the training grounds, your gaze was immediately drawn to him. Maegor.

He stood in the center, his massive frame towering over the three guards he was sparring against. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, his muscles flexing with each powerful movement. His Valyrian steel sword moved like an extension of himself—swift, deadly, and precise. One guard lunged; Maegor sidestepped effortlessly, bringing his sword down in a brutal arc that sent the man sprawling onto the ground. The second barely had time to react before Maegor twisted, kicking him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing into the dirt. The third hesitated for a brief moment—that was his mistake. With a single strike, Maegor disarmed him, his sword clattering to the ground.

You tilted your head, watching him with quiet intensity. He is magnificent.

He was your brother, but the way your heart pounded at the sight of him was anything but familial. You had known for a long time now that your feelings for Maegor went beyond what they should. He was brutal, terrifying, and ruthless—but to you, he had always been something more.

The last guard scrambled to his feet and, despite knowing he had already lost, attempted one final attack. Maegor barely even looked as he caught the man’s wrist and twisted, forcing him to his knees with a pained grunt. With a smirk, Maegor finally released him, turning his gaze toward you.

His sharp, violet eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded.

"You've been standing there for some time," he remarked, his voice deep and rough from exertion. He took a step toward you, sword still in hand. "Enjoying the sight?"

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away. "Should I not admire the strength of the King?"

A slow smirk curved his lips, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Admiration is one thing," he murmured, closing the distance between you. "But you—" He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of silver hair from your face. "You look at me differently."

Your breath caught. Does he know?

"And how do I look at you, Maegor?" you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk widened as he leaned in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of steel and sweat. "Like you want me."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a flustered reaction. Instead, you tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "And if I do?"

For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression—something dark, something hungry. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Maegor chuckled, stepping back slightly, though his eyes never left yours. "Careful, little sister. If you tempt a dragon, don’t be surprised when you get burned."

You inhaled sharply, watching as he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering in your chest.

You had always known that Maegor was dangerous. But now, you knew something else.

He had noticed.

The corridors of the Red Keep were eerily quiet as you made your way to your mother’s chambers. The torches lining the stone walls flickered, casting long shadows as you walked. You knew she would be there—she rarely left her rooms these days, preferring the solitude of her own space over the constant tension of the royal court. Where once she had sat beside Maegor in the council chambers, her presence a silent yet commanding force, now she withdrew, as though the weight of everything had finally caught up to her.

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the fireplace greeted you. The scent of burning wood mixed with the faint aroma of herbal tea. Your mother, Visenya, sat in her high-backed chair, her posture as regal as ever despite the softness that age had begun to bring. She cradled a cup of tea in her hands, the steam rising gently, her sharp violet eyes flicking up to meet yours the moment you entered.

“You have been spending much time in the training yards,” she remarked, not as a question, but as a statement.

You exhaled softly, closing the door behind you before crossing the room to sit beside her. “I like watching him.”

Visenya’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes darkened. “I know.”

A silence settled between you, broken only by the distant crackling of the fire. She took another sip of her tea, then set the cup down on the small table beside her. When she finally turned to you fully, her gaze was unreadable, but her voice was firm.

“This obsession of yours with Maegor,” she said, “it must end.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked your reaction well. Still, she knew. Of course, she did. Nothing ever escaped your mother’s notice.

“Why?” you asked, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Because it is dangerous.”

You scoffed. “Maegor is dangerous to everyone.”

She shook her head. “That is not what I mean.”

Her gaze was piercing now, cutting through the silence like a blade. “You think I have not seen the way you look at him? The way you watch him as if he is the only thing that exists in this world? You are my daughter, and I know what is in your heart, even if you do not wish to admit it.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands tightening into fists in your lap. “And if I do admit it?”

Visenya’s expression did not waver. “Then you must let it go.”

Anger flared in your chest, but it was not just anger—it was frustration, desperation. “You want me to deny what I feel?”

“I want you to understand the reality of what you feel,” she corrected. “Maegor is a man who takes what he wants. If he has not yet taken you, it is because he chooses not to. You may think yourself different from his other wives, but you are not.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “I do not care about his other wives.”

“And yet they exist,” Visenya said sharply. “They are proof that Maegor’s heart is not yours alone to claim.”

You stood abruptly, your pulse pounding. “He is my brother.”

“He is your brother,” she echoed, rising to her feet with the same quiet grace she had always possessed. “And he is my son. Do you think I do not love him? Do you think I do not see what he is becoming?”

You swallowed hard, but she did not stop. “I forged him into what he is. I guided his hand toward power because that is what was necessary. But you—” she took a step closer, her gaze softening for the first time—“you do not need to be caught in the fire of his making.”

You felt your breath tremble as you exhaled, your resolve wavering under the weight of her words. “You do not understand.”

“I understand more than you think.” She reached out, cupping your face gently in her hands, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks as she studied you. “You are not the first Targaryen to burn for another. But love alone will not tame Maegor. He does not rule with love—he rules with fear. And fear is no foundation for what you seek.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing the ache that had lodged itself in your throat. “I do not seek to tame him.”

“Then what do you seek?”

You opened your eyes and met hers, the truth slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Him.

Visenya sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling away. “You will only hurt yourself,” she murmured.

But as she turned back to her chair, you knew that the words, though meant to dissuade you, would do no such thing.

Because no matter the warnings, no matter the risks—you had already made your choice.

The thought lingered in your mind long after you left your mother’s chambers.

She did not understand.

She thought she could dissuade you, that her warnings could cool the fire burning within you. But she had forgotten something—you are her daughter. You share the same blood, the same ruthlessness, the same hunger for power. And Maegor? He is the only one who has ever matched you in that.

You moved through the halls of the Red Keep, your steps slow but certain. The Keep had been reforged under Maegor’s rule—stronger, darker, impenetrable. Just like him. It stood as a testament to his will, towering over King’s Landing like a beast ready to devour all who opposed it.

It was fitting.

Because the man who ruled within it was no different.

As you entered the training yard once more, you saw him, just as you had earlier. Maegor stood in the center, surrounded by the fallen bodies of his sparring partners. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling beneath the blackened steel of his armor, his greatsword still dripping with sweat and dirt. He looked like a war god, a dragon in the shape of a man.

He turned at your approach, his violet eyes locking onto yours.

“You return,” he noted.

You tilted your head, amusement flickering in your gaze. “Should I not?”

Maegor scoffed, tossing his sword aside. “You should not be here at all.”

“And yet, here I am.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. He took a step closer, and so did you.

The others in the yard knew better than to remain. Guards, knights, even the few spectators quickly dispersed, leaving only the two of you beneath the setting sun.

Maegor studied you for a moment before speaking. “Our mother has words for you, I assume.”

You let out a soft laugh. “She does.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “She thinks I should forget you.”

His eyes darkened, something dangerous flashing across his face. “And will you?”

You smiled, slow and knowing, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “Do you think I will?”

He did not answer immediately. Instead, his gaze roamed over you—your face, your lips, the bare skin exposed at the collar of your gown. His fingers twitched at his sides, as though resisting the urge to reach for you.

He had always resisted.

But you could feel it—he was tired of resisting.

“You already have many wives,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “And none of them bear the blood of the dragon.”

He inhaled sharply.

You leaned closer, your lips just barely brushing against his ear. “You are the King, Maegor. You take what you want.”

His jaw clenched. “And what if I want you?”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, a victorious smirk curling at the edges of your lips.

“Then take me.”

The words hung between you like an unspoken challenge.

For the first time, Maegor did not fight it. He did not hold back.

His hand shot out, grasping the back of your neck as he pulled you against him. His lips crashed onto yours, hard and claiming, as if he were sealing his decision in that very moment.

It was not soft. It was not gentle. It was possession. And you welcomed it.

You didn't care about the gazes of the servants and guards when Maegor carried you to his room, you didn't even care about the whispers that would stick to you the next day. he closed his bedroom door with his foot and threw you on the bed.

The heavy clang of Maegor’s armor hitting the stone floor echoed through the chamber. One by one, the blackened steel plates fell away, exposing the powerful, battle-hardened body beneath. His every movement was deliberate, his sharp violet eyes never leaving yours as he rid himself of the barriers between you.

Your breath was uneven, your pulse quickened. Not from fear—never fear—but from anticipation. From the raw energy crackling between you, something that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

And now, finally, there were no more obstacles.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he removed the last piece of his armor. His chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. The torchlight cast flickering shadows over the harsh lines of his face, highlighting the controlled restraint in his expression.

“You knew this would happen,” he said, voice dark and thick with something unspoken.

You tilted your head, a slow, knowing smile curving your lips. “Of course.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something primal. “I should not want you.”

You arched a brow. “And yet, you do.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest. In two strides, he was upon you, his hands bracing on either side of you as he loomed over you on the bed. “You test me.”

You looked up at him, unafraid, reveling in the tension that coiled between you like a dragon ready to strike. “I know.”

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “This will change everything.”

You reached up, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “Good.”

That was all it took.

With a sound between a snarl and a groan, his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing the triumphant laugh that bubbled in your throat. His kiss was nothing short of a conquest, demanding, claiming. But you met him with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his hair, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him down against you.

The weight of him was intoxicating. The heat of him burned through the layers of your gown, through your very skin.

His hands roamed your body, mapping every curve, every dip and rise as if he were learning you by touch alone. And then, with one sharp tug, he ripped the fabric apart, exposing you to the cool air of the chamber.

A gasp escaped you, but he did not give you time to recover. His lips moved from your mouth to your throat, teeth grazing your skin, marking you as his.

“You knew,” he murmured against your pulse, his breath hot and uneven.

You shivered beneath him. “Yes.”

His hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “And you wanted this.”

You arched beneath him, pressing your body against his, daring him to do more. “Yes.”

His fingers tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the power he held—the power you had willingly walked into. Yet, you only smiled, tilting your head slightly, challenging him.

“You think you know me so well,�� Maegor murmured, his voice rough, dangerous.

“I do.” Your voice was steady, unwavering.

His thumb traced the delicate line of your jaw, his grip firm, possessive. “Then you should know I do not take well to being manipulated.”

You laughed, soft and knowing. “Is that what you think this is? Manipulation?”

His eyes darkened, flickering with something unreadable. “You ask me to make you my queen.”

“I ask you to make me your equal.” You leaned closer, your breath warm against his lips. “You and I—we are the same, Maegor. We take what we want, regardless of who stands in our way. You rule through fear, through fire and blood. And I…” Your fingers ghosted over his bare chest, tracing the scars earned through years of battle. “I understand you in ways they never will.”

His grip on your throat flexed, his gaze searching yours. “They will never accept it.”

“They do not need to.” Your voice dropped to a whisper, intimate, coaxing. “We are dragons, Maegor. Let them burn.”

A slow smirk curved his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “You seek power.”

“I seek you,” you corrected. “And I do not share what is mine.”

He studied you for a long moment, weighing your words, the certainty in your voice. Then, his grip loosened, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. He pulled you forward, forcing you to look up at him, forcing you to see the storm raging behind his violet eyes.

“You will regret this,” he said lowly.

You smiled, unshaken. “No, I won’t.”

His lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding, as if he could make you take back your words, as if he could make you yield. But you kissed him back just as hard, your nails digging into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

The battle for dominance raged between you, but you both knew the truth—this was no conquest. This was fate.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his pupils blown wide. He looked at you as if he had finally, truly seen you. And for once, Maegor the Cruel was at a loss for words.

Then, a slow, dangerous smile curved your lips. “Marry me, Maegor. Crown me, and let us rule together.”

His chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. Then, finally, he murmured, “If I take you, there is no turning back.”

You held his gaze, unwavering. “Then don’t hold back.”

And just like that, the last of his restraint shattered.

Maegor was not a man who lost control easily. He was a conqueror, a warrior, a king forged in fire and blood. But with you, it was different. You saw it in his eyes—the way they darkened, the way his breath hitched as your fingers tangled in his hair, the way his body tensed as if fighting a losing battle.

"You hold yourself back," you whispered, pulling his hair back just enough to expose the sharp lines of his jaw, his throat. "Why?"

His teeth clenched, his grip on your hips tightening as if to steady himself. "Because if I don't—"

"You will," you interrupted, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice nothing but a sultry murmur. "You will lose control, and you will give in to me."

Maegor growled, a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You do not command me."

You smirked, leaning in closer, pressing your body against his. "Don’t I?"

And that was it—the final push, the last thread of restraint snapping. With a snarl, Maegor's hands gripped your thighs, and in one swift motion, he had you beneath him, his body pressing into yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. His lips crashed against yours, all heat and hunger, all dominance and possession.

"You play with fire," he rasped against your lips, his voice thick with barely restrained desire.

"I am fire," you countered, your fingers digging into his scalp, pulling his hair once more.

The growl that escaped him was primal, his muscles flexing as he slammed into you with a force that had you crying out in both pleasure and triumph. You had pushed him to the edge, and now he was falling—dragging you down with him.

His pace was punishing, his grip unrelenting, his mouth everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, your lips. He was branding you, marking you as his just as much as you had claimed him for yourself.

"You wanted me like this?" he growled, his voice hoarse as he thrust deeper, making your back arch off the bed. "You wanted to break me?"

You gasped, your nails raking down his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath your touch. "No," you whispered breathlessly, your lips curling into a wicked smile. "I wanted to free you."

Maegor let out a sharp breath, his forehead pressing against yours as his movements grew rougher, more desperate. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice breaking into a groan as he buried himself deeper, forcing another cry from your lips.

You laughed between your moans, delighted by the fact that you had unraveled him so completely. "That’s the man I wanted," you murmured against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes burning with something wild, something dangerous. "And you are mine," he declared, his voice a raw promise, a vow sealed in sweat and fire.

You pulled him down into another bruising kiss, your legs tightening around his waist, dragging him deeper, demanding more. "Then prove it," you challenged.

And gods, did he.

Maegor pinned your wrists above your head, his grip unrelenting, his body a force you could no longer control. The smirk on his lips was triumphant, cruel, his amusement unmistakable as he watched you tremble beneath him.

"Where is she now?" he taunted, his voice deep and laced with satisfaction. "The little viper who dared to play with dragons?"

You gasped, your back arching as he found that spot again, the one that made your body betray you completely. A whimper escaped your lips, and Maegor chuckled darkly, his gaze burning into yours.

"You were so bold before," he mused, leaning down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Teasing me, taunting me. But now?" He pressed a slow, deliberate thrust that had you biting back a cry. "Now you have nothing to say?"

Your hands strained against his grip, but it was useless—he was too strong, too unyielding. You wanted to fight back, to retake control, but he wasn't letting you. And that only made your desire burn hotter.

"Admit it," he murmured, his free hand trailing down your body, his touch deliberate, tormenting. "You wanted this. You wanted me to break you."

Your breath hitched, your body reacting before you could form a proper response. The way he moved, the way he owned you in this moment, left no room for anything but raw, helpless pleasure.

"You can't even deny it," he chuckled, his tongue flicking over the shell of your ear. "You're shaking for me, falling apart under my hands. Tell me, little dragon—" his teeth scraped against your throat, his next thrust making stars explode behind your eyes. "Do you still think you can control me?"

Your pride warred with the overwhelming sensations flooding your body. You wanted to deny him, to tell him you still held the upper hand—but the way he had you now, completely at his mercy, made it impossible.

Still, you forced yourself to smirk, even as your voice trembled. "Perhaps I let you win this time."

Maegor stilled, his grip tightening around your wrists, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. "Let me?"

A flash of something dark and thrilling passed between you. His expression twisted into something feral, something ruthless.

"Then let's see," he growled, lowering his body over yours completely, pressing you into the mattress, "how much more you are willing to give me."

And then, with one punishing snap of his hips, he shattered you completely.

Maegor let out a deep, guttural growl when he felt your teeth sink into his flesh, his body tensing above you. His grip on your wrists tightened, but you didn’t care—you had marked him. You had left something on him, a reminder that you were not merely his to conquer, but that he belonged to you just as much.

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across your lips as you pulled back, admiring the red mark blooming on his neck. "There," you murmured, your voice thick with pleasure and triumph. "Now everyone will see that even the mighty Maegor the Cruel is claimed."

His breath was ragged, his silver hair damp with sweat as he loomed over you, his body still moving, still demanding. His free hand came up to grasp your chin, forcing you to look into his darkened eyes. There was something dangerous in them, something feral—but also something deeply satisfied.

"You think that makes me yours?" he rumbled, voice low and threatening, but you could hear the amusement laced within it.

You tilted your head despite his grip, your smirk widening. "Are you saying it doesn’t?"

Maegor bared his teeth in something between a grin and a snarl. "Foolish girl," he muttered before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, all teeth and dominance, as if trying to consume you. His thrust became rougher, more determined, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress, ensuring you had no escape.

Yet still, your gaze burned into his, your challenge unwavering. You knew him—you knew how to play this game, how to make him feel in ways he never had before.

"You are mine," you whispered when he pulled back for air, your breath mingling with his. "Whether you admit it or not, Maegor."

His eyes darkened further, something unreadable flickering in them. Then, suddenly, he released your wrists, his large hands gripping your waist instead.

"Then prove it," he growled.

Before you could even process his words, he had flipped your positions, your body now straddling his. The sudden shift made you gasp, your hands instinctively planting themselves on his chest for balance. His smirk returned as he watched you, his grip firm on your hips.

"Show me," he demanded. "Take what you claim as yours."

Your heart pounded, your breath unsteady—but you refused to hesitate. If he wanted proof, you would give it to him.

With a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you set the pace, your movements confident, knowing exactly how to drive him mad. His hands trembled against your skin, his jaw clenched as he let you lead, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"You are mine," you echoed, watching as his breath hitched, his grip tightening. "And I will never share you."

Maegor’s growl vibrated through his chest, his restraint slipping. His hands guided your movements now, meeting your rhythm with his own. "Then you had best make sure no one can ever take me away from you."

And with that, the battle between you continued—one of fire and desire, of dominance and submission, of two dragons unwilling to be tamed by anything but each other.

You sat atop him, your silver hair cascading over your shoulders, your body moving with deliberate confidence. Maegor, beneath you, was a vision of restraint and frustration. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his jaw clenched, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him as he fought the primal urge to take what he wanted. What you had denied him.

His breathing was ragged, his powerful chest rising and falling as he struggled against the command you had given him. Do not touch me unless I allow it.

And Maegor had obeyed. But his patience was wearing thin.

Your fingers trailed up his arms, over the scars that marked his battles, before settling around his throat. Not tight enough to hurt—just enough to claim.

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours. The violet depths burned with something dark, something dangerous, something hungry. His lips curled into a smirk, though his voice was rough when he spoke.

"Do you think you rule me, little dragon?" His words were mocking, but there was an edge of something deeper—curiosity, even admiration.

Your grip on his throat tightened slightly, your nails digging into his skin just enough to make him swallow hard. "I know I do," you whispered, leaning closer, your breath ghosting over his lips. "You are mine, Maegor. No one else."

A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, his muscles tensing beneath you as if ready to throw you down and reclaim control. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. You had stripped him of that power tonight, and you both knew it.

"Arrogant," he murmured, though there was something like admiration in his voice. "Just like me."

You smiled, tilting your head slightly as you pressed a slow, taunting kiss to his jawline. "That is why we belong together."

His hands twitched, his restraint fraying at the edges. You could feel the battle raging within him—the war between his desire to dominate and the intoxicating thrill of surrendering to you, just this once.

"You tempt fate, sister," Maegor warned, his voice hoarse. "You do not know what I will do once I break free of your chains."

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with unwavering certainty. "Then break free, Maegor."

His breath hitched. His body coiled beneath you like a dragon ready to strike. But still, he did not move.

"You see?" you whispered, pressing your lips just above his pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. "Even you cannot deny me."

His head fell back against the pillows with a low, frustrated groan, his fingers digging into the sheets as he surrendered—completely.

And you smiled. Because tonight, Maegor the Cruel belonged to you.

Maegor’s grip on the sheet tightened for a brief moment before he let out a sharp exhale, his head falling back against the pillows. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing beneath your fingers as you moved with deliberate, confident grace, your hands now firmly planted on his broad shoulders.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he growled, his voice hoarse, strained. His hands flexed at his sides as if resisting the urge to seize control.

You smirked, leaning down so that your lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "Am I?" you whispered, tilting your head slightly to press an open-mouthed kiss against his jawline, feeling the way his body trembled in response. "I think you’re just not used to someone telling you no."

His growl deepened, but still, he did not move to stop you. You could see it in his face—the battle between his need for control and his hunger for you. He was Maegor the Cruel, a man who took whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And yet, here he was, allowing you to dictate the pace, letting you be the one in control.

You rolled your hips once more, slow and unrelenting, watching as his fingers dug into the sheets. His nostrils flared, his darkened violet eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of frustration and unbearable desire.

"Do you hate this?" you teased, dragging your nails down his chest, watching the way his muscles rippled beneath your touch. "Being beneath me?"

His eyes flashed, his lips parting as if to snarl some sharp retort—but then you moved again, and whatever words had been forming in his throat died on his tongue.

A deep, shuddering breath escaped him, and for a moment, his grip on control faltered. His hands twitched toward your hips before he caught himself, fists clenching instead. You laughed—low and victorious.

"Poor, poor Maegor," you crooned mockingly, running your fingers through his damp silver hair. "Always so strong, so unyielding… And yet here you are, trembling beneath me."

His patience snapped.

In the blink of an eye, his hands shot up, seizing your wrists and flipping your positions before you could even gasp. Your back hit the bed, your head spinning. His body caged yours beneath him, his fingers wrapping around your throat as he loomed over you, his expression a mixture of fury and unrelenting hunger.

"You truly think you can tame me?" he rasped, his voice thick with something between fury and raw, unfiltered desire. "That you can toy with me without consequence?"

You smirked up at him, your breath uneven, but your confidence unshaken. "I know I can."

His expression was unreadable for a moment, his lips slightly parted, his breath heavy. Then—slowly—his mouth curved into something dangerous, something almost proud.

"You will regret this," he warned.

But even as he said it, his lips descended upon yours once more, and you knew—there was no regret to be had.

Maegor did not hold back. His grip on your hips was ironclad, his movements relentless, driving you further and further into a state of pure, uncontrollable sensation. Your nails clawed at his shoulders, your voice breaking into incoherent pleas as he continued to push you beyond your limits.

His dark violet eyes glowed with something triumphant, something wicked. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "What happened to all that confidence, little one?" he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Where is the fearless woman who thought she could tame me?"

You could barely breathe, let alone form a response. The intensity, the overwhelming sensation, it was too much. Your body betrayed you, trembling violently beneath him, your fingers clutching at him as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Maegor chuckled darkly, his hand sliding up to cup your throat, his thumb brushing lazily over your racing pulse. "So fragile," he murmured mockingly, tilting his head as he observed you. "And yet, you truly believed you could best me?"

You whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, only to snap open when he suddenly stilled.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you found yourself teetering on the very edge of oblivion, your entire body burning with frustration. Your hands fisted against his chest, your breath ragged. "Maegor—"

His smirk widened. "Ah, so you do know how to beg," he mused, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. "Say it again."

Your pride warred with your desperation. You wanted to defy him, to prove that you were still in control, but gods, the way he held you, the way he owned you in this moment—it shattered any semblance of resistance you had left.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His eyes darkened, his smirk fading as something more primal took over. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, his voice a low, possessive growl. "Good girl."

And then, without warning, he moved.

A scream tore from your throat as he pulled you under, into a world where nothing existed but him—the weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the sheer power he wielded over you so effortlessly. Your vision blurred, your mind spinning as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you utterly undone beneath him.

Maegor watched you with satisfaction, his expression one of absolute victory. He slowed, his hands running possessively down your trembling form, as if to savor the sight of you like this—wrecked, breathless, completely his.

"You will never win against me," he murmured, pressing a searing kiss to your parted lips. "No matter how much you fight it, no matter how much you pretend to have control."

He pulled back just enough to meet your dazed, unfocused gaze. His fingers brushed against your cheek, almost tenderly. "You belong to me," he whispered. "And I will make sure you never forget it."

Your body trembled violently, your senses consumed entirely by him. Maegor had torn away every last fragment of control you thought you had, leaving you at his mercy—breathless, shaking, and utterly undone beneath him.

Yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the way your limbs felt like they no longer belonged to you, something deep inside you refused to surrender. You were a dragon, just as much as he was. And dragons did not bow so easily.

As the final waves of pleasure coursed through you, your arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, marking him just as he had marked you. "Maegor—" His name escaped your lips in a desperate cry, raw and unrestrained, and the sound of it seemed to push him over the edge.

A guttural growl tore from his throat as he gave in to his release, his entire body tensing above you. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing bruises into your soft flesh as he buried himself deep, claiming you in the most absolute way. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged and uneven, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something—but words failed him in that moment.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sound in the dimly lit chamber was the heavy rise and fall of your breathing, the lingering echoes of your shared pleasure still hanging in the air. His weight pinned you to the bed, warm and solid, as if he had no intention of letting you go.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, an almost tender gesture, so different from the ruthless dominance he had just shown. His hand slid up your body, fingers tracing along your collarbone before cupping your face. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His violet eyes were dark, still clouded with the remnants of desire—but beneath that, there was something else. Something deeper.

"You are mine," he murmured, his voice rough but certain. "And I will never let you go."

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, his mouth was on yours again, claiming, demanding. There was no space for hesitation, no room for doubt. He wanted you to understand that this—you and him—was not something temporary.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze swept over your face, as if committing every detail to memory. "Say it," he commanded, his voice softer now but no less insistent. "Say that you belong to me."

A part of you wanted to resist, to challenge him as you always had—but you knew the truth. You had belonged to him long before this night, long before either of you had dared to act on what had always simmered between you.

Your fingers traced over his jaw, your touch gentle, almost reverent. "I am yours, Maegor."

A slow, satisfied smirk curled his lips. "Good," he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one lingering, possessive. "Because I would burn the world to keep you."

The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of fire and sweat, of desire finally unleashed after years of restraint. You lay beneath Maegor, your body still tingling from the aftermath of what had just transpired between you. Your breaths mingled, your limbs tangled together, but what consumed you now was not just the physical pleasure—it was the undeniable truth that, after tonight, everything had changed.

Maegor had always been an enigma, a man of steel and fury, forged in the crucible of war and ambition. He had many wives, many women who vied for his attention, but none of them were you. None of them had shared his blood, his fire. None of them had challenged him the way you did.

And tonight, for the first time, you saw the shift in his gaze. He no longer looked at you as just his sister. He no longer saw the child who had once trailed after him in the halls of the Red Keep. No—now, he saw you, the woman, the dragon who had dared to claim him as her own.

Maegor ran a hand through his hair, his chest still rising and falling heavily as he leaned on his forearm above you. His violet eyes bore into yours, searching, filled with something unreadable. His fingers ghosted along your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. "You planned this, didn't you?" His voice was low, rough, but there was amusement beneath the accusation.

A slow, knowing smile curled at your lips. "I have always known what I wanted, Maegor," you whispered, tilting your head slightly. "And I do not lose."

His smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in the way he looked at you now. "Neither do I," he countered, gripping your chin and forcing you to hold his gaze. "Do you know what you have done?"

You reached up, trailing your fingers over the scars on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch. "I have taken what is mine."

A sharp breath left his lips, his grip tightening for just a moment before he let out a low chuckle. "So bold," he murmured, shaking his head. "So foolish."

"Foolish?" you echoed, arching a brow. "Or brave?"

His eyes darkened at that, and in one swift motion, he rolled you onto your back again, his weight pressing you into the furs beneath you. "Reckless," he corrected, his lips ghosting over yours. "You think you can have me all to yourself?"

Your nails dug into his back, a smirk playing on your lips. "I do not think, Maegor. I know."

He inhaled sharply, his fingers tangling into your hair as he pulled your head back, exposing your throat to his burning gaze. "You do not command me."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. "And yet, here you are…"

A growl rumbled in his chest before his lips crashed against yours again, fierce and demanding. It was a battle neither of you would ever surrender.

As the night stretched on, as your bodies and wills clashed again and again, you knew one thing for certain—Maegor the Cruel had finally met his match.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you were yanked harshly from Maegor’s warmth. The lingering haze of exhaustion and pleasure still clung to your body, but the sudden forceful pull on your wrist had you snapping awake instantly.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you stumbled, barely catching yourself before falling completely. Your eyes darted to the woman standing before you, her grip on your arm firm, her expression twisted in anger.

It was Tyanna.

Her dark eyes burned with fury as she glared at you, her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in her face. Behind her, you noticed the door to Maegor’s chamber was wide open, the hallway beyond it filled with the hushed murmurs of curious onlookers. Servants, guards, and even some of the other wives peered in, their faces a mix of shock, curiosity, and amusement.

You pulled your arm back forcefully, shaking off her grip as you straightened your posture. The silk sheets pooled around your waist, leaving your bare skin exposed to the cool morning air, but you refused to show any sign of weakness. You lifted your chin, meeting Tyanna’s glare with a calm, almost lazy defiance.

"You dare touch me?" you asked, your voice smooth and even, though there was an undeniable edge to it.

Tyanna scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she sneered down at you. "I should be the one asking you that," she spat, her eyes flicking toward Maegor’s still-sleeping form. "You think you can just crawl into his bed like some common whore and take what belongs to us?"

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "I did not crawl, Tyanna," you corrected her coolly, brushing a strand of silver hair behind your ear. "I was carried."

Her face darkened in an instant.

"You think this is a game?" she hissed, stepping closer, her voice low and venomous. "You are nothing more than his latest amusement, a passing distraction."

You hummed, tilting your head. "A distraction that kept him entertained all night, it seems," you mused, glancing at the marks Maegor had left all over your body. "How unfortunate for you."

Tyanna’s hand shot out as if to slap you, but before she could strike, another hand caught her wrist mid-air.

A deep, warning growl filled the room.

Both of you froze.

Maegor.

His grip on Tyanna’s wrist was bruising, his expression a storm of barely contained rage as he loomed over the both of you. The golden morning light streamed in from the window, illuminating the sharp lines of his face, the unmistakable power in his form. His dark violet eyes flickered with fury as he turned his gaze to Tyanna.

"Touch her," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper, "and I will rip the flesh from your bones."

Tyanna stiffened, her eyes wide with shock. "Maegor—"

"Silence."

His command was absolute.

You could see her struggling to maintain her composure, but the raw authority in Maegor’s voice left no room for argument. He did not release her wrist immediately; instead, he tightened his grip just enough to make her wince before shoving her away.

She stumbled slightly, but recovered quickly, glaring at you one last time before turning on her heel and storming out of the room, her skirts billowing behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Maegor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as if the mere presence of his wives exhausted him. He turned back to you, his gaze raking over your exposed form before settling on your face. His expression softened—only slightly, but you noticed it nonetheless.

"You have a habit of causing trouble," he muttered, reaching out to brush his fingers against your jaw.

You smirked, leaning into his touch. "And yet, you never seem to mind."

His lips quirked upward in amusement before he suddenly grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully.

"Let them be jealous," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Let them burn with it."

Then, with a satisfied hum, he pulled you back into the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist possessively.

"You are mine now," he whispered against your skin. "And I do not share."

The laughter that filled the chamber died instantly as the heavy doors swung open.

You barely had time to react before the towering figure of Visenya Targaryen stood framed in the doorway, her presence alone enough to suck the warmth from the room.

She did not need to shout.

She did not need to brandish Dark Sister.

She did not need to utter a single word.

Her silence alone was a blade at your throat.

Maegor’s lips stilled against your skin, his body still covering yours protectively, but he did not move away. Instead, his grip on you tightened, his muscles tensing as he turned his head toward your mother. His violet eyes met hers, unreadable yet unwavering.

Visenya’s gaze was cold, calculating, as sharp as the sword she wielded. Her face betrayed no emotion, save for the slight furrow of her brow—the only indication of the storm that brewed within her.

A long silence stretched between the three of you.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“Get up.”

Her voice was not loud, but the weight of command in it was absolute.

You did not move.

Neither did Maegor.

His grip on you only tightened.

Visenya’s eyes darkened as they flicked between the two of you, her lips pressing into a thin line. She stepped forward, each movement precise, measured. When she spoke again, her tone was clipped, biting.

"Are you truly this foolish?" she asked, her gaze burning into you. "Or have you simply gone mad?"

Your fingers dug into Maegor’s arm as you sat up, but you did not look away. "Neither," you answered calmly. "I know exactly what I am doing."

Visenya’s expression remained unreadable, but you saw it—the flicker of something dangerous in her eyes.

"Do you?" she murmured.

You held her gaze.

"Yes."

Her lips curled, not quite into a smile—more like the ghost of something cruel.

"You believe you are above consequence," she mused, stepping closer. "You believe your blood, your name, will protect you from the fury of those who will see this as an affront."

You tilted your chin, refusing to cower before her.

"I believe," you said slowly, "that I am the only one worthy of him."

That made her pause.

Maegor let out a low chuckle, his grip on you loosening slightly as he leaned back against the headboard, watching the exchange with amusement. His mother’s gaze flickered to him, as if to gauge his reaction, before she exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Is that what you think?" Visenya asked, arching a brow.

"It is what I know," you corrected.

For the first time, her expression shifted. Not anger. Not disappointment.

Something closer to intrigue.

She studied you for a long moment, the firelight casting shadows across her sharp features. When she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet, but the edge remained.

"Rise," she ordered.

You hesitated only for a moment before Maegor moved first, pulling you up alongside him. The silk sheets pooled around your waist as you sat up fully, facing your mother without shame, without hesitation.

Visenya’s gaze flickered briefly to the marks along your skin—the proof of what had transpired between you and Maegor the night before.

She did not look surprised.

She did not look pleased, either.

Instead, she simply clasped her hands behind her back and said, "Dress yourself. We will speak in the Tower of the Hand."

Then, without another word, she turned and strode from the room, leaving the heavy doors open in her wake.

The moment she was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Maegor was still beside you, his hand tracing absent patterns along your thigh. You turned to him, finding his lips curved into something between amusement and satisfaction.

"She did not say no," he mused.

You smirked. "Not yet."

He chuckled, his hand tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. "Then let us ensure she never gets the chance to."

You walked beside Maegor, your pace measured, your head held high, as if the weight of every whispered word around you did not exist.

The halls of the Red Keep were alive with murmurs—maids clutching their cleaning rags, their eyes wide with scandalous delight; courtiers pausing mid-step, turning to murmur behind their hands as their gazes flickered between you and Maegor.

They were not subtle.

Some did not even bother to whisper.

Yet you paid them no mind.

You had chosen your gown deliberately. The dark velvet fabric clung to your form, the heavy embroidery glinting under the torchlight. The neckline—low enough to reveal the bruises Maegor had left upon you—was not an accident, nor was the way you allowed your hair to tumble freely over your shoulders, rather than pinned in the modest fashion expected of noblewomen.

You wanted them to see.

You wanted them to talk.

And they would.

Maegor, at your side, was silent but imposing. His presence alone sent a chill through the air, making those in your path step aside without hesitation. His dark armor gleamed, his black cloak billowing behind him as he walked, his hand resting idly upon the pommel of his sword.

He did not look at you, nor did he acknowledge the stares—but you knew he was aware of them.

Just as you were.

And when you finally reached the doors to the chamber where Visenya awaited, he turned his head ever so slightly, his lips curving in the faintest of smirks.

He was enjoying this.

The tension.

The spectacle.

The knowledge that every person in this castle now knew that you belonged to him.

He reached for the doors and shoved them open without hesitation.

Inside, Visenya stood near the hearth, her hands clasped behind her back, her silver hair catching the firelight. She did not turn as you entered, but you could feel the weight of her presence, the sharpness of her mind already dissecting your every move before you even made them.

"You are bold," she said at last, her voice measured, calm. "Perhaps too bold."

You stepped forward, your chin lifted. "You did not summon us here to discuss my wardrobe."

That made her turn.

Her eyes—those same sharp, calculating violet eyes that you and Maegor shared—landed upon you first. They lingered on the marks upon your skin, the way your gown so purposefully displayed them.

Then, slowly, she shifted her gaze to Maegor.

"You should have more sense than this," she told him. "But perhaps I overestimated you."

Maegor did not flinch. He did not look away. "You overestimate your own authority, Mother, if you think to dictate whom I take to my bed."

Visenya exhaled sharply through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"This is not merely about a bed, and you know it." She turned back to you. "What is your endgame, child? What exactly do you hope to gain from this?"

You held her gaze.

"I do not hope for anything," you said simply. "I will have what is mine."

Her brows lifted ever so slightly. "And what, pray tell, do you believe is yours?"

You glanced at Maegor then, at the way he stood beside you, solid and unmoving, his hand still resting upon his sword as if daring anyone to challenge his right to be at your side.

Then, with the confidence that had been carved into your very bones, you turned back to Visenya and answered:

"The throne."

Silence.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire.

Then—slowly, very slowly—Visenya smiled.

It was not a warm smile.

It was not a pleased smile.

It was sharp. Calculating.

Like the first flicker of a flame before it consumes everything in its path.

She exhaled softly and stepped closer, so close you could see the faint lines around her mouth, the weight of years spent shaping the destiny of House Targaryen.

"If you wish to wear a crown," she murmured, her voice almost gentle, "then you must be willing to bleed for it."

You did not blink.

You did not waver.

You smiled.

"Then let the bleeding begin."

Visenya's words hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.

"I should have agreed when your father wanted you to marry Aenys."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Maegor’s jaw clenched so tightly you could hear the grind of his teeth. His hand, still resting upon the pommel of his sword, curled into a fist. The flickering firelight cast deep shadows upon his face, making him look even more menacing than usual.

You, however, could only stare at your mother, shock momentarily robbing you of speech.

"Aenys?" you echoed, as if you had misheard her.

Visenya did not waver. "Yes. He was our brother’s son, of pure Valyrian blood. A match that would have been appropriate—unlike this… madness."

Madness.

She was calling this madness.

She, of all people.

You almost laughed at the irony.

"You—" Maegor’s voice was a low, warning growl. "You would have given her to him?"

Visenya’s expression remained unreadable. "It would have been better than what she has chosen for herself."

A muscle twitched in Maegor’s jaw. His grip tightened upon his sword.

You saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way his nostrils flared—the barely restrained rage simmering beneath his skin.

And yet, beneath that rage…

There was something else.

Something dark and possessive and utterly furious.

You swallowed, regaining your voice. "You would have had me wed a man who would sooner hide behind his councilors than make a decision for himself?"

Visenya’s gaze flickered back to you. "Aenys was weak," she admitted. "But he was still our blood. And a union between you and him would have ensured—"

"Would have ensured that I spent my life shackled to a man unworthy of me." You lifted your chin, voice sharp. "Would have ensured that I wasted away in the shadows while he simpered before the lords of Westeros."

Visenya exhaled sharply. "And now you would shackle yourself to Maegor instead?"

At that, Maegor let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "No," he murmured darkly, stepping closer. "She does not shackle herself to me." His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in an iron grip. "She belongs to me."

A possessive declaration. A claim.

One that left no room for argument.

Your heartbeat quickened.

Visenya’s eyes darkened. "Belongs to you?" she repeated, her tone edged with something unreadable. "Is that what you believe?"

Maegor smirked, tilting his head. "I know it."

Visenya inhaled slowly, measuring his words—measuring you.

"And you?" she finally asked, her gaze settling upon you.

You met her stare without flinching.

"Yes."

A single word. Steady. Unshaken.

Visenya studied you for a long moment, and for the first time, something flickered in her gaze.

Not anger.

Not disappointment.

But recognition.

"You are a fool," she murmured. "Both of you."

You said nothing.

She sighed, running a hand over her temple as if you had given her a headache. "Do you even understand what you invite upon yourself?"

You held her gaze. "I understand more than you think."

Visenya shook her head. "You think you understand. But power is not given—it is taken. And once you take it, there is no going back."

You did not hesitate. "I do not intend to go back."

A beat of silence.

Then Visenya exhaled softly, something almost like resignation flickering across her face.

"You will regret this," she murmured. "Both of you will."

Maegor smirked. "Doubtful."

Visenya stared at him for a long moment, then at you. Then, without another word, she turned and strode toward the doors.

But just before she exited, she paused.

"You should pray," she said over her shoulder, "that you never find out why I wanted you to wed Aenys instead."

And then she was gone.

The room remained heavy with her words.

You turned to Maegor. "Why would she say that?"

He was still staring at the door, his jaw set.

Finally, he exhaled and looked at you.

"Because she knows," he murmured, stepping closer, his hands settling upon your waist. "That I do not intend to share what is mine."

His grip tightened.

His gaze burned.

And despite the warning still lingering in the air—

You smiled.

The doors to the council chamber swung open with a resounding thud, and the air inside shifted, thick with tension as you and Maegor stepped inside.

Every eye in the room turned to you.

The lords of the realm—the men who had served under your father, Aegon the Conqueror, and now bowed before his son—stared at you in stunned silence.

Their gazes flickered between you and Maegor, their shock evident, though none dared to speak first.

For they knew who you were.

You were not just Maegor’s sister.

You were the daughter of Aegon the Conqueror and Visenya Targaryen. A dragon born of dragons.

And now—now—you were something more.

Maegor strode to the head of the table, his presence commanding as he turned to face them all. His hand, large and possessive, rested upon your lower back, the warmth of his touch burning through the fabric of your gown.

He did not wait for anyone to find their voices.

"I have summoned you all here to inform you of a decision," he declared, his voice a low rumble of finality.

Your lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as you watched them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"The women who call themselves my wives," Maegor continued, his tone edged with disdain, "are no longer so. As of this moment, I renounce them. I annul every marriage."

A ripple of shock swept through the chamber. The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to interrupt.

You could hear the sharp inhale of Lord Rogar Baratheon, see the way Lord Tully's hands twitched upon the table. Even Lord Celtigar, one of the most loyal supporters of House Targaryen, looked taken aback.

But Maegor was not finished.

"In their place, I will take one wife."

He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto yours.

Your breath hitched.

Not because you were surprised—no, this was what you had wanted.

This was what you had orchestrated.

But because, in this moment, standing beside him as he declared to the realm that you were his—

You felt it.

You felt the power shift.

The inevitability of it.

"The woman I will wed," Maegor continued, his voice dark and possessive, "is my sister."

The chamber erupted.

"My king —!" Lord Baratheon shot to his feet, but he was silenced by the sound of Maegor unsheathing Blackfyre and slamming it against the table.

The great Valyrian steel blade sent goblets spilling over, the clang of metal against wood ringing through the air like a war drum.

The lords flinched.

You did not.

Maegor’s eyes burned as he surveyed them, daring them to challenge him.

"I am your king," he reminded them coldly. "You will not interrupt me again."

A thick silence fell over the room.

Even Lord Baratheon, still standing, hesitated before slowly lowering himself back into his seat.

Satisfied, Maegor continued.

"There is no woman in the realm more worthy of my throne than my own blood," he declared. "No one more fit to rule at my side than my own sister. A dragon belongs with a dragon."

Your heart pounded as his words wrapped around you, solidifying the reality of what you had fought for.

The lords were stunned into silence, their minds scrambling to grasp what this meant—what you meant.

And then, finally, someone found their voice.

"Your Grace," Lord Tully said hesitantly, his face pale. "The Faith—"

Maegor turned his burning gaze onto him. "The Faith will bend. Or I will break them."

A chill swept through the room.

Everyone knew what that meant.

The memories of the last Faith uprising were still fresh—bodies impaled upon spikes, the Great Sept desecrated, the streets of King's Landing running red with blood.

No one wanted to challenge Maegor on this.

No one could.

And so, they remained silent.

You smiled.

Because in this moment—

You had won.

Maegor turned to you, his dark gaze locking onto yours, his lips curling into a smirk.

"You will be my wife," he said, his voice lower now, meant only for you. "And you will rule at my side."

Your hand reached up, fingers brushing his jawline, tilting his face toward yours.

"And I will never share you," you whispered back, your eyes alight with triumph.

Maegor exhaled a slow, deep chuckle, his grip tightening upon you.

"Then it seems," he murmured, "we understand each other perfectly."

As the heavy doors of the council chamber slammed shut, the lingering echoes of Maegor’s decree still clung to the air like a storm waiting to break. The lords had left in silence, their faces pale, their minds racing with the weight of what had just transpired.

But you—

You remained.

Alone with him.

Maegor leaned back in his chair, the great seat carved for kings, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those dark, molten pools—were fixed upon you, watching, waiting.

A slow smile curled upon your lips.

With deliberate steps, you approached the long table that had been the site of so many political discussions, so many power struggles—where the realm had just learned that you had triumphed over them all.

You placed one hand on the polished wood and then, with a graceful ease, lifted yourself onto the table, sitting directly in front of him, your legs on either side of his.

His gaze darkened.

Maegor’s hands found your waist instantly, his grip firm, possessive, pulling you closer until there was nothing but breath and heat between you.

Your arms slid around his neck, fingers threading into the thick silver strands of his hair.

"That went well," you mused, tilting your head, your voice laced with amusement. "They did not dare to argue for long."

Maegor let out a low chuckle, one of satisfaction. "Because they fear me," he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing the sensitive point of your jaw. "As they should."

You hummed in agreement, your nails lightly scraping against the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

"And now," you whispered, leaning in until your lips nearly brushed his, "they will fear me as well."

Maegor’s grip tightened.

"Good," he rumbled. "Let them."

His hands slid down, rough palms pressing against your thighs before gripping your hips, pulling you forward until you were flush against him.

"You did not even hesitate," he said, his breath warm against your lips. "Did you ever?"

You laughed softly, brushing your nose against his.

"Never," you admitted. "You are mine, Maegor. And I do not share."

His pupils dilated at your words, a growl of approval escaping him.

"Neither do I."

Then his lips crashed against yours, and you let yourself be claimed—just as you had claimed him.

The fire between you and Maegor was not one that could be tamed. It was raw, untamed, a hunger that no one else could ever understand.

His lips crashed against yours once more, neither of you willing to yield, both fighting for dominance in a battle that neither truly wanted to win. His hand slid up your back, fingers pressing into your spine as he pulled you impossibly closer. The warmth of his body, the sheer power of him, sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, making him groan against your mouth. It was a sound of frustration and pleasure all at once. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip possessive, almost punishing.

"Still trying to control me, little dragon?" he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, teasing.

You smirked, your nails scraping against the back of his neck. "You belong to me, Maegor. Do you doubt it?"

He let out a low chuckle, one filled with dark amusement. "I do not doubt it," he admitted, his lips trailing along your jawline, down to the curve of your neck. He bit down—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. "But you belong to me just the same."

Your head tilted back as his mouth worked its way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, a rhythm that matched the fire burning in your veins.

Your legs tightened around his waist, your body molding against his as his hands roamed, his touch leaving trails of heat wherever it landed. You could feel his breath against your collarbone, feel the way he fought to keep his control intact.

"You are holding back," you whispered, your fingers threading through his silver hair, tugging once more. "Why?"

Maegor growled, his hands gripping your waist harder. "You test me," he murmured, his lips pressing against your skin, his breath warm, teasing. "You have always tested me."

"And you have always loved it."

His eyes met yours then, dark and filled with something deeper than mere desire.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice low, dangerous. "I have."

Then, with a sudden movement, he lifted you off the table with ease, carrying you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, your arms tightening around his neck as he turned, stalking toward his chambers with a determination that sent a thrill down your spine.

"Where are we going?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

He smirked, his grip tightening on you. "To make sure the entire Red Keep knows exactly who you belong to."

Maegor was never a patient man. You knew that better than anyone. And yet, as you lay beneath him, watching his fingers fumble in his urgency to rid himself of his armor, you couldn’t help but laugh.

His head snapped up at the sound, eyes narrowing. “You find something amusing?” His voice was a growl, low and dangerous, but there was a glint in his eye—a flicker of something that was reserved only for you.

You reached up, brushing a strand of damp silver hair away from his forehead. “Only that the mighty Maegor the Cruel is in such a hurry,” you teased, your fingers grazing along his jawline. “Where is your control, brother?”

His hands found your wrists before you could move away, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your head. The sudden force made you gasp, your amusement flickering into something else—something deeper, darker.

“My control?” He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “It is you who shatters it every time.”

You shivered as his lips brushed against your jaw, trailing down to your throat. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, his grip on your wrists tightening as your body arched beneath him. He was fire—burning, all-consuming—and you had always been drawn to the flames.

“I should make you beg,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with restraint.

You tilted your head, a smirk curving your lips even as your pulse raced. “And yet, here you are, trembling with need.”

Maegor let out a low growl, his fingers curling around the fabric of your dress. With one sharp tug, the fine material tore, slipping from your shoulders like silk.

“Careful, brother,” you purred, your breath hitching as his lips found the curve of your collarbone. “You might just lose yourself.”

His golden eyes met yours, dark and smoldering. “I already have.”

And then, with a force that stole the breath from your lungs, he claimed you—wholly, utterly, as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Maegor moved with a brutal, unrelenting pace, forcing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on as he claimed you with the same ruthless determination he wielded in battle.

His grip on your hips tightened, ensuring you had nowhere to go—not that you wanted to escape. Your legs wrapped securely around his waist, locking him in place. The motion made him groan, his head falling to the crook of your neck.

“Fucking,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, strained.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was breathless, tinged with the heat coursing through your veins. “Losing control already, brother?”

His teeth found your throat in response, biting just hard enough to leave a mark before soothing the sting with his tongue. You shivered at the sensation, fingers tangling in his hair as he moved.

“You provoke me,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin. “Every damn time.”

You tilted your head, giving him better access, enjoying the way he took exactly what he wanted. “And yet, you always give in.”

Maegor pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “You will be mine.”

You smirked, running your nails down his back, delighting in the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. “I already am.”

The words sent him into a frenzy, his movements growing more intense, more desperate. His control—so carefully maintained in every other aspect of his life—was shattered here, with you.

And gods, you loved knowing that no one else could ever break him the way you did.

Maegor straightened, pulling your hips flush against him with a sudden, forceful grip that tore a sharp cry from your lips. He laughed—low, dark, victorious—as he held you there, refusing to let you pull away even an inch.

"Look at me," he commanded, fingers grasping your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

Your breath hitched, body trembling, but you refused to surrender so easily. Even as he held you, as he dominated you, you still wanted to push him, still wanted to fight.

"You think you’ve won?" you taunted, voice uneven but defiant.

His grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly, his smirk widening. "I know I have."

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your submission. But Maegor knew you too well—he could see the struggle, the way your body reacted despite your mind’s resistance.

"You fight me," he murmured, eyes gleaming with something dangerous, something hungry. "But you want this. You always do."

Your nails dug into his arms, your chest rising and falling with every rapid breath. "And you need me to want it," you shot back, voice shaking. "Because without me, you're nothing."

His expression darkened, but instead of anger, it was something far more dangerous—something primal. His hold on you became firmer, possessive.

"You think you control me?" he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. "You think you own me?"

You smirked, despite the way your body quivered in his grasp. "I know I do."

That was his breaking point. With a low growl, he moved—fast, overpowering—his mouth crashing against yours as he silenced your defiance the only way he knew how. You gasped, but he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of his dominance into it.

Maegor would never yield. He would never bow. But neither would you.

And that was why he would always come back to you.

Maegor’s roar of anger echoed through the chamber as the heavy wooden doors burst open, slamming against the stone walls with a force that sent a gust of cold air rushing into the room.

You barely had the presence of mind to register what had happened before laughter bubbled up from your lips. It was sharp, mocking, delighted, because standing in the doorway, frozen in shock and horror, were the women who had once called themselves his wives.

Or rather, his former wives.

Tyanna’s dark eyes were wide, disbelief flashing across her sharp features as she clutched the doorframe. Jeyne’s hand covered her mouth, her soft, delicate face drained of all color. And poor Ceryse— hands curled into fists, trembling as she stared at you, at him, at what the two of you had become.

"What," Maegor snarled, his voice like rolling thunder, "do you think you’re doing?"

The weight of his fury struck them hard. Even Tyanna, who had always been the boldest, flinched under the intensity of his glare.

"We—" Jeyne tried to speak, but her voice cracked. She swallowed thickly and straightened, eyes flickering between you and the man who now held you so possessively. "We heard rumors, Maegor. That you—that she—"

Her words failed her, but the meaning was clear enough. They had hoped, perhaps, that the whispers had been false. That the court had exaggerated. That there was no way their husband—their king—could be found in such a compromising position with his own sister.

But the truth was laid bare before them.

You, tangled in Maegor’s embrace, your skin still flushed, your body still trembling from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Him, his arm wrapped around you, holding you to him like a claim that no one could challenge. The scent of sweat and passion still lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.

You tilted your head back against Maegor’s shoulder, looking at them through half-lidded eyes, utterly unbothered. "Now you come running?" you mused, amusement dripping from every word. "How pathetic."

Ceryse took a step forward, her body tense with rage. "You’re his sister!" she spat, voice shaking. "This is—this is madness!"

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Is it? Because to me, it looks a lot like destiny."

"You’ve bewitched him," Jeyne whispered, staring at you with something close to fear.

At that, Maegor laughed. It was a low, cruel sound, reverberating through his chest as he held you tighter. "Do you take me for a fool, Jeyne? You think I do not choose this?" His voice dropped into something even darker. "You think I would let anyone—even her—command me?"

Tyanna’s lips parted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across her face. But Ceryse wasn’t so easily silenced.

"You promised me," she hissed, stepping forward again. "You promised me you would honor our vows."

Maegor’s expression was unreadable, but you felt the tension in his body shift—something hard, something dangerous. "And now," he said coldly, "I break them."

Ceryse let out a sharp, wounded breath.

Jeyne was the first to recover, her gaze dropping to the floor as she took an unsteady step back. "So it’s true," she murmured. "You mean to cast us aside."

"I already have," Maegor corrected, his voice void of any remorse.

Tyanna was silent. But the way her hands curled into her skirts, the way her gaze darted to yours, full of dark calculation, told you that she was already plotting her next move.

You, however, had no such worries.

Instead, you merely smirked, turning your face up to look at Maegor, your fingers tracing absent patterns over his bare chest. "Tell me, my love," you purred, voice dripping with mockery, "shall I have them thrown out? Or shall we let them stay and watch?"

Ceryse recoiled as if struck, and Jeyne let out a horrified gasp.

Maegor exhaled sharply through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He liked your cruelty. He liked that you enjoyed this as much as he did.

But he was not a man of patience.

"Get out," he growled, his tone brooking no argument.

Jeyne was the first to obey, turning on her heel and all but fleeing from the room. Ceryse lingered for just a moment longer, her hands trembling, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears—then she turned sharply and stormed after her.

Tyanna, however, was different. She lingered, her dark gaze locking with yours, a knowing smirk playing at her lips.

"You may have him now," she murmured, voice slow, measured. "But we shall see how long you can keep him."

And then, without another word, she slipped away into the shadows, disappearing into the halls beyond.

Silence fell over the room.

Then Maegor sighed, pulling you against him once more, burying his face in your hair. "Fools," he muttered darkly. "All of them."

You laughed softly, nuzzling into his warmth. "Let them talk," you whispered. "Let them watch."

Maegor’s grip on you tightened, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let them fear."

And they would.

Because after tonight, the world would know—Maegor the Cruel did not love, did not belong to anyone.

But you… you were the exception.

Tag List : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry

[holyguardian]

Aerith pursed her lips a little. Another small drink of her tea, and then the cup was pressed into her father's hand for him to take. He could gulp down the rest if he felt like it, if not, it could meet the grass outside.

She didn't know when she had properly closed her eyes, but she managed a small rest. Her body pulled her under, urging her to replenish some of her mana, but soon enough she laid awake staring at the hints of light dancing over the tent.

Catching her bottom lip with her teeth, worrying over it, she eventually lifted her head and sought out Somnus. He was... on the floor. Stretching out, her pale hand reached to grab hold of his exposed shoulder, giving a small shake. Maybe it was mean. Maybe it was selfish. But when she got his attention, she shifted over on the cot and beckoned for him to come.

He seemed to hesitate. Aerith beckoned again, her arm opened for him. She heard a deep exhale from him before he relented. He laid on top of the fur covers and it was her arm that grabbed and dragged him in closer, sharing a comfortable space and sharing warmth. They weren't doing anything wrong.

The next exchange may have been the last. Or maybe it was the sight that Glenn was greeted to when he walked back into the tent. His footsteps seemed heavy and fast, but halted when Aerith lifted her head up and stared right at him.

Exhaling his own breath, he clapped Somnus on the shoulder nevertheless. "We're moving out."

For as quick as Somnus rolled out of bed, Aerith matched that energy. Though she didn't linger in the tent. Instead she grabbed her father by his hand and pulled him along with her, silently bossing him into coming with her. "I'm checking over the injured soldiers one last time. Either you're walking with me, or you're sending someone." she spoke outside, her steps not slowing.

There would only be this window of time to make the final preparations. Everything would be packed up in a whirlwind of activity, so she couldn't delay, not when it meant making sure the worst of the worst injured would be able to make the last travel as pain free as they could.

"Use the remaining royal carriage to seat who needs it most. A few others can squeeze into the supply wagons, and each driver can sit two men beside them. Hopefully that will be enough to make this journey less of a burden. Measure up the largest chocobos, if you can seat a second person with the rider that is how the women will be transported for this final stretch."

It was like Aerith woke... different. Something had changed. Somewhere between her crying panicked state, her hours of healing, that small respite and waking, she found this decisive attitude.

Stave in hand, she approached the centre of the still-standing tent. The soldiers seemed to understand the reason, she didn't even need to say a word, those at the fringes gathered in closer or were helped by their comrades while she slipped into a familiar stance. The air stirred around her as she focused a long-charging spell. She held it longer. Longer than before. When she raised her stave, a healing spell pulsed through the tent in an intense green wave.

It was the last gift she could offer before the long march to come. There wouldn't be another chance for succour until they all reached the castle.

Exhaling a deep breath, shoulders bowed down briefly, Aerith felt herself steadied by a few hands. The soldiers didn't overstep — far from it — they had risked everything for her protection, and a few steadied her on her feet, made sure she was okay. Finally she offered her first little smile and gave a nod. "Let's get going." she encouraged, stepping away to help direct with the medic who was better suited for the carriage, the wagons and the driver's extra bench mates.

Soon enough everyone was prepared, or as prepared as they could be. Her father looked like he had swallowed an especially bitter gysahl green after her small conversation with him and why she would be sitting in front of her husband rather than her father. Aerith almost looked proud when she approached Somnus for an arm-up onto Alba.

Spies within the farmlands. Possibly within their palace itself. Somnus cast a look to Gilgamesh, who still wore his mask, but he could tell the minor shift beneath it. There was work ahead. A lot of work. Spies within their own lines was bad enough, but within their own walls… that could tip any war against them.

And it would come to war.

This was the last possible declaration, the last aggression. The hands of the prince consort worked, balling to tight fists and releasing again to stop his anger. They had almost gotten his daughter. And what Jacob would have done with her was a fate worse than death for sure…

The princess finally seemed to understand. And her words were clear.

Somnus looked to her and took a deep breath. There would be little to no rest coming for them the next weeks and months. They would have to gather their armies and then this battle would only end with Jacob’s death. Or theirs.

Did Aerith even understand what she was diverting to here? Somnus could still hear her panicked cries when she had held onto him a few hours ago. And this had just been an ambush. War was so much worse. Her water spell had washed him clean today. But in other battles, Somnus had been able to smell the iron on him for days.

Would she fight along them?

That was a question Somnus would have to ask her… another time.

Her father got up instead and had a tired smile, as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“May your words be heard by the Lifestream and Ancestors. But we have to be careful. For now our main goal will be returning home. We will rest for a few hours now. And then we will not stop again until we are at the farmlands capital. It will be a little over a day’s march, but it is feasible. The soldiers probably agree that this is better than resting again. Now we have to outrun Jacob’s spies and his coming wrath. Sleep now. We all should.”

As he turned, this seemed more like an order and Somnus gave a quiet nod, retreating away from Aerith's cot. A lot of the carry-on had been detsroyed in taht carriage, so he relegated himself to sleep on the floor wrapped in the equipment he ususally had for his missions. And the onyl noises for a few hours would be how Glenn and Gilgamesh exchanged brief information when they swapped out being on watch outside the tent.

[aleexoxosstuff]

-“IN ANOTHER LIFE”

Pairing: 𝖩𝗎𝗇-𝖧𝗈 𝗑 𝖿𝗂𝖺𝗇𝖼é!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Summary: 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖩𝗎𝗇-𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.

Warning: 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍…, 𝖩𝗎𝗇-𝗁𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀!, 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍

𝖶𝖼: 5.9 𝗄 (𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀…)

𝖥𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌!!

𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾, 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗓𝖺’𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍…

ENDING YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH Jun-Ho was never a part of your plans.

During your time together, you felt like you floated on a cloud, enveloped in the warmth of his unwavering attention. He indulged your every desire, showering you with dates and gifts, leaving you with the lingering thoughts that you were unworthy of his devotion. Each moment spent with him felt like a scene from a romantic film, where the world faded away, and it was just the two of you.

You remember the way he looked at you, his eyes sparkling with admiration, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. The way he listened intently to anything you had to say, offering support and encouragement, made you feel seen in a way you had never experienced before.

You questioned whether you truly deserved the life he was offering you. You found yourself grappling with the doubts of your relationship, wondering if you could ever truly match the love he so freely gave. When he proposed you began to overthink like never before. Your friends cooed at the sparkling ring on your finger while bringing up how hard it must be dating a detective and how dangerous the career was. Before it was never a problem, now it was all on your mind.

As time passed, the weight of your insecurities started seeping into the relationship, casting shadows over the two of you. You found yourself hesitating to express your true feelings, fearing that if you told him everything, he might realize it was a mistake proposing to you.

Despite these internal struggles, the thought of ending things with Jun-Ho felt unfathomable. He was not just a partner; he was everything you had dreamed of as a kid. The idea of walking away from the love that had enveloped you in such warmth was something you couldn't ever think of doing. Instead, you clung to the hope that you could bridge the gap between your self-doubt and the love he offered, believing that perhaps, in time, you would get better.

When he told you that he would be gone for a couple of days for a work trip you were nervous. Several possibilities roamed your mind as he tried you reassure you he’d be fine. After avoiding a nervous breakdown and making him promise to return safely, you reluctantly agreed to let him go. You and his mother kept each other company while he was away, wanting to comfort one another. You went to work despite the eye-bags under your eyes, if people ever saw them they pretended not to notice out of pity. After work, you would greet his mother at your door, quietly eat dinner with minimal talk, and cry late into the night quiet enough for her not to wake up.

Upon receiving the call that he was hospitalized, it felt as though the very breath had been stolen from your lungs, leaving you gasping for air in a world that suddenly seemed darker and more uncertain. The thoughts that engulfed your mind as you learned of his precarious condition. The haunting fear that he might not see another day settled heavily in your chest, a weight that threatened to crush you under its intensity.

When you finally arrived at the hospital, the sight of him struck you like a physical blow. He appeared as a shadow of himself, a mere echo of the vibrant person you once knew. Adorned with a neck brace that seemed to confine him even further, and bandages that marred his skin, he lay there, vulnerable and fragile. The machines around him beeped rhythmically, a constant reminder of the life that hung in the balance, and you felt a deep ache in your heart as you took in the scene before you.

You remained steadfast by his side, your fingers entwined with his throughout the night, holding on as the hours slipped into the early morning light. Each minute felt like an eternity, and you found yourself whispering silent prayers, hoping against hope that he could hear you, that he could feel your presence anchoring him to this world. The warmth of your hand in his was a small comfort, a lifeline amid chaos, and you clung to it as if it were the only thing keeping you both tethered.

His mother, equally distraught, bore her own anguish, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own. You could see the weight of her worry etched into her features, the lines of fear and despair deepening with each passing moment. In that shared space of grief, you felt a profound sense of helplessness, unable to comfort her while grappling with your own despair. The air was thick with unspoken words, a shared understanding of the fragility of life that hung heavily between you.

As the night wore on, the hospital room became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where time seemed to stand still. You exchanged glances with his mother, each one laden with the weight of unexpressed fears and hopes. You wanted to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be alright, but the truth was that you didn’t know. When he finally woke up, you gasped, afraid that your mind was playing tricks on you, wanting to play with you. Then, he said your name so delicately that tears had immediately fallen down your cheeks. You yelled out for the nurses to come, scared that he would fall back into unconsciousness. They pushed you aside gently as they checked up on him, his eyes stayed on you as you walked out to call his mother.

Hours later, they finally let the two of you have a peaceful moment to yourselves. You sat on the bed from the little space available as you caressed his face delicately. You didn’t want to disrupt the calm atmosphere, you wanted to know the truth but understood he might not be ready. His eyes softened as they watched your eyes study his features. His thumb grazed your left hand, messing with the ring that stood proudly on your ring finger. He watched your mouth twitch up, but it only stayed a moment before it faded away.

It was hard on the both of you, your relationship not being the same after he left. You longed for the days when everything felt effortless when love flowed freely between you without the burden of doubt or fear. Yet, as he returned, you made the conscious decision to refrain from asking him about what exactly had happened during his absence. You sensed that he was dealing with his own emotions, and the last thing you wanted was to add to his burden. Instead, you chose to leave the issue alone and be there when he was ready to share.

However, concern for his well-being weighed heavily on your heart. You could see the shadows of his struggles reflected in his eyes, and it pained you to witness the toll that had taken on him. This deep-seated worry compelled you to pause all wedding preparations, despite him saying he wanted to be married to you already. You both understood, perhaps more than anyone else, that the scars of recent events had yet to heal. The thought of making such a significant commitment loomed over you like a cloud, casting doubt on whether you were truly prepared to take that leap together. You held onto the hope that, in time, you would emerge stronger, ready to embrace the future you both envisioned.

Your apartment together was too quiet, Jun-ho went back to work as a detective which you voiced your discomfort over, but he’d dismissed you quickly and avoided the topic. You would clean the apartment spotless, cook his favorite meals, anything to try and make him open up more. All he would do was give you a gentle kiss before making his way to your shared room.

You couldn’t handle it anymore, after six long months you were tired. It was another night when Jun-ho would brush you off, his eye-bags showing how exhausted he was. You called out to him, grabbed his hands, and led him to sit down beside you. When you told him that he needed to take a break from working he finally blew up.

“Quit acting so worried, I’ve told you several times that I’m fine. Not even my mother acts so worried about me.” He shot out, he quickly grew annoyed by you. He took his hand out of your hold and sighed in frustration. You were hurt, never before had he talked to you like this, the two of you never even fought much, there were little disagreements. You had a feeling that this would spiral out of control.

“I’m your fiance, I have a right to tell you when you need to take a break. You have no idea how worrying it is seeing you go back to work knowing how dangerous it is.” You scoffed out, following him as he stood up, making his way to the room where the two of you spent countless nights together. You weren’t going to give up on this, you needed to vent out all of your frustrations.

“Do you know how hard it is for me? I’m trying to move on from what happened.” He says with his back facing you, not able to look you in the eye as he speaks. You wanted to comfort him but anger surged through you as you spewed out words you’d been keeping to yourself for months.

“From what? For months you’ve pushed me away ever since the incident and I have no clue what even happened to you! Do you know how terrifying it was when you returned with a bullet shot through your shoulder?!” You yelled out, you wanted him to understand how hurt you were, that you hated being in the dark for months not knowing what happened to the only man you ever loved.

“I’m not a child, I know how to take care of myself.” Jun-ho exasperated. He was now sitting on the bed, stripping from his shirt that stuck to him. You eyed him in irritation. You didn’t like how he tried to brush off your words, instead focusing on taking a shower.

“You’re so cruel Jun-ho, I love you of course I’m going to worry about you. You come home exhausted to even talk to me about your day, everyday it’s the same routine, you eat, take a shower, and then go to sleep.” You cried out, unable to understand why he was being so cruel with his actions. You couldn’t fathom that this was the same man who would trap you in a hug until you forgave him for the littlest of disagreements.

“I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all of this Jun-ho.” You pleaded, a tear slipping from your eye, you could feel them finally coming down. Your throat tightened up in pain and an aching pain was beginning to build up in your heart.

“Shit, all you’ve done is smother me and act like I'm going to break any minute. That’s what I’m tired of. I get off work and you tread around me like I’m a stranger in our apartment.” He snapped, looking you in the eyes as he towered over you. He softened for a moment as he wiped the tears off your cheeks that reddened at how angry you were. You moved from his touch, ignoring his face drop, and pressed a finger at his bare chest.

“Oh yeah? If that’s how you feel then why did you never tell me how you felt? A relationship is supposed to make you feel secure enough to be vulnerable.” You spat out, yanking your finger away when he grabbed onto it to stop you from poking him. He sighed once more pulling you out of the way and making his way to the shower.

“Quit backing out of this conversation and tell me how you really feel!”

“I feel that you're suffocating me in this fucking relationship! I feel that I’m fucking tired of you treating me delicately, and I’m exhausted from being near you when you try to pretend everything is fine.” He clenched his jaw while pointing his finger back at you. Jun-ho’s eyebrows were furrowed together as his chest heaved up and down in anger.

“Then maybe this fucking relationship was a mistake huh? If you’re sooo unhappy then leave me the fuck alone.” He rolled his eyes at your words, not taking them seriously enough for consideration. He thought that you both needed to calm down before you ended up ripping each other's heads apart.

“You don’t even make sense anymore, we need some space from each other.” Without another word, he opened the door to the restroom and closed it behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment to calm himself down before he heard your voice shakily yell back at him.

“Fine then, if that’s what you want then you’ll get it.” He hesitated before turning the water on, stepping out from the rest of his clothes. He heard rustling from your shared bedroom but assumed you were getting ready for bed.

You were engulfed in a whirlwind of anger and sorrow. The echoes of your argument replayed in your mind in a loop, each word bringing you to silent tears. As you thought back on the heated exchange, it became painfully clear to you what he had been feeling all along—his frustration, his hurt, and the unspoken words that had lingered between you like a thick fog. The realization settled heavily in your chest, a weight that made it hard to breathe.

With trembling hands, you rose to your feet, the urgency of the moment making you jump into action. You stumbled toward the corner of the room, where the suitcase lay hidden beneath the bed. You began hastily packing your clothes, shoving items into the suitcase without much thought—shirts, skirts, a favorite sweater that still carried his scent. Each piece felt like a memory you were trying to escape, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to leave it behind entirely.

The oppressive atmosphere of the room, filled with memories of the two of you, felt unbearable. The walls seemed to close in around you, suffocating in memories. You could almost hear the laughter that once echoed through the space, the quiet moments of intimacy that had turned into silence. You knew he would soon emerge from the shower, and with urgency, you finished gathering your things, your heart racing as you zipped the suitcase shut. You took one last look around the room, a bittersweet end to a life you had built together, and headed for the door.

As you descended the stairs, each step felt like a countdown, the sound of the water stopping above you signaling that he was wrapping up his shower. You could almost picture him, the steam rising around him, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just outside the bathroom door. Your heart ached at the thought of leaving him, but the need to escape was overpowering.

Your gaze fell upon the ring you once wore with pride, a symbol of love and commitment that now felt like a shackle. A pang of realization hit you, reminding you that it no longer belonged on your finger. It was made out of a promise that had been broken. With a heavy heart, you carefully removed the gleaming ring, feeling its weight shift from your finger to your palm, as if it were a piece of your former self. The cool metal felt foreign against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the memories it held. You placed it gently on the coffee table, the soft thud echoing in the eerily silent apartment.

With one last glance at the ring, you turned away, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your shoulders. You quietly stepped out of the eerily silent apartment, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoed in your mind. The world outside felt vast and uncharted, a stark contrast to the confines of the life you were leaving behind. As you walked away, each step felt like your heart was breaking more.

Before you knew it, you stood in front of your mother's house ringing the doorbell. After a quiet moment, she opened the door with tired eyes. Once she took in your appearance she cooed at you as you moved into her embrace. You trembled in her arms as she shushed you quietly, rocking the both of you back and forth.

“Mom, can I stay here for a while?” You asked after you calmed down, breaking away from the hug. She quickly noticed the absence of your missing ring and nodded firmly, taking you inside to the house you once called home.

Jun-ho was anxious when he didn’t see you lying down in the bed, the apartment being dead silent as his fatigue began to catch up to him. Against his better judgment, he assumed you fell asleep downstairs on the couch, something you had done frequently since he came back from the hospital. There were days when you’d wait for him to come home late into the night, falling asleep before he’d make it back.

He knew he had to apologize to him for his cruel words, knowing he let his anger out on someone he knew deserved the most for dealing with him and his trauma. Jun-ho knew he was way out of your league, and deserved someone who didn’t have baggage. When he met you he let himself be selfish and chased after you until you grew to like him like how he was infatuated with him. He began to slip into a deep sleep dreaming of the beginning of your relationship unbeknownst to your growing absence.

When he spotted the ring glinting on the coffee table as he walked by that morning, he came to a sudden halt. The sunlight streaming through the window caused the ring to shine brightly, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the room. It was as if he was hallucinating everything that happened—the argument from the night before, the dazzling ring that left him almost gasping to breathe; everything felt surreal.

He was already almost late for woke and he quickly jumped into his car, the engine roaring to life as he began to drive. He fumbled for his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed your number, each ring increasing his anxiety. After seven attempts, each one met with the same beep, he felt a knot of desperation tighten in his chest. Just as he was about to give up hope, he pressed the call button one last time.

On the eighth call, he finally heard your voice, and a wave of relief washed over him. He could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to ease, but the urgency in his heart remained.

“Hello?” you answered, your tone a mix of disdain and exhaustion, the sun was barely out and he knew you didn’t enter work until later in the morning. He winced as he began to sputter out a string of words.

“I’m sorry, you need to come back and let me apologize properly. Shit, I was having a bad day and took it out on you.” He blurted out, his words tumbling over one another in his haste. “We need to talk.”

As he listened to you sigh exasperated, halting him from speaking, he gripped the ring that felt heavy in his palm. It belonged on your finger; its only purpose was to show how much he loved you.

“Keep it; I told you you’d get what you wanted, after today, you’ll never hear from me again.” You spoke out bluntly; you gave your mom a soft nod as she watched you in concern, your stepmother beside her as she tried listening to the conversation. Your rigid posture was enough to let her know who you were on the phone with.

“ __ , I know you deserve better, but please don’t do this, I want to make things right. I love you.” He pleaded, causing your breath to get caught in your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes and your heart felt heavy as you spoke up once more.

“You were so fucking mean, you’ve pushed me away so many times that I can’t deal with it anymore. We’re not meant for each other, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the person you opened up to.” You quickly hung up the phone, leaving him gripping the steering wheel in silence. You tucked your knees to your chest as your parents ran by your side, comforting you in your childhood home. You didn’t want to fight anymore; you knew you needed to let go of him. If he didn’t want your help, then there was no future together as husband and wife.

It has been nearly four months since your breakup with Jun-ho, and you still find it hard to move on. Your finger felt bare without your engagement ring on your finger, a constant reminder of the future you had left along with him. You remember the way he would slip the ring onto your finger, his eyes sparkling with love and hope, and now that memory feels like a cruel joke.

When you shared the news of your breakup with friends and extended family, their reactions were filled with disbelief; no one saw it coming, especially given the deep respect and love you both had for one another. They had always admired the way you complemented each other and how effortlessly you looked together as a couple. The shock on their faces only deepened how much you regretted everything, mourning the end of a relationship but also the dreams that you had for your future. Their attempts to console you felt hollow; you knew they didn’t truly understand how you felt.

Initially, Jun-ho tried to reach out and make things right, sending flowers to your workplace, each bouquet more extravagant than the last. He left them with a colleague who seemed to find his gestures amusing, often teasing you about how romantic he was being. But the flowers now felt like a burden, a reminder of what you had lost. His messages and calls became a relentless tide, crashing against the walls you were trying to build around your heart. You felt overwhelmed, suffocated by his attempts to reconnect, prompting you to silence his number, to create a barrier between you and the pain of his absence.

Yet, despite everything, you hesitated to block him completely. A small part of you clung to the hope that he might need you in case of an emergency, that perhaps he would reach out and you would be there to support him as you always had. It was conflicting, torn between the desire to protect your heart and the instinct to be there for someone you still loved so deeply. The thought of completely severing ties felt like a betrayal, to the promises you’ve made to him.

Then, three weeks ago, he stopped. Your mother, sensing your distress, tried to comfort you with her gentle words, suggesting that he was simply respecting the space you both needed to process everything.

Guilt washed over you like a tide, pulling you under. You felt guilty for wanting him to continue pursuing you, even after you had decided to end things. It was a confusing mix of emotions—longing for his attention while wanting to honor the choice you had made. You had thought that stepping back would bring clarity, but instead, it left you feeling more lost than ever. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart raced with hope, only to sink when it was just a notification from work or a reminder of an upcoming event.

You were brought back to reality when someone tapped on your shoulder. You gave a shaky smile to the woman who beamed up at you. Jun-ho’s mother wrapped you up in a hug, her frail arms tightly squeezing your waist. You returned the gesture and gently encased her in a hug. Once she released, she gave your reddened cheeks a soft pat.

“Look at you, are you sure you’re eating properly?” She questioned with a raised eyebrow, which you giggled at. You didn’t realize how much you missed the short woman until now.

“You know how work gets. I’ve gotten a promotion at work, so I’ve been wrapped up with things there.” You admit, shying away from the woman as she playfully smacked your shoulder. Your eyes wandered past her, worried yet hopeful to see if perhaps her son joined her at the market. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help but wonder how he was. Did he move on already? Has he been eating? Was work still eating him up?

As if she knew who you were looking for, she quickly spoke up.

“He’s at work right now; he’s a traffic cop now and has been busy with that. Told me it wasn’t worth it anymore.” Your body froze as you cast your gaze downward to the floor. You couldn’t believe it; you knew that he loved his job, even with how dangerous it was.

“Y’know, when he told me about the flowers he would leave you at work to try and apologize. I had to yell at the boy for him to realize you needed time. Even with him being my son, I viewed you as my own daughter and I understood you. I hope that you can find it in you to work it out with him. I wanted to see the two of you get married already.” She revealed everything all at once that you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs.

You missed him; you missed the apartment you shared where you would sleep by each other, you missed having late dinners with him as you watched a new show together. Even with the last few months being hard on you both, you realized that you loved him too much to even think of moving on with your life without him by your side.

You tried to talk to talk, opening your mouth and then closing it when nothing came out. She gave you a wink before walking off, wishing to see you soon again. You thought that maybe this was her plan all along, to make you realize how much you deserved to make things right and be happy again with her son.

After going back to your parent's house and letting them know your plans, you quickly earned their approval. They’ve always liked Jun-ho, he was the first boyfriend they liked and did everything perfectly to earn their praise. When he had decided to propose to you, they were ecstatic with him, they loved you dearly and saw him as the only person worthy of you.

With their quick encouragement, you made your way to your once-shared apartment, where some of your things still lay there, frozen in place. As you stand outside the door, debating whether you should back down and turn around, You ring the doorbell before you turn back. It was beginning to get dark out, and you became terrified if you made the right choice. For all you knew, a woman could open the door and laugh in your face.

Then he opened the door.

He stood still, the weariness etched on his face fading as he truly focused on you. The world around him blurred into a distant hum, and in that moment, it felt as if time had paused just for the two of you. Doubts swirled in his mind—was this really happening? Was the love of his life standing before him, looking just as beautiful as the day he lost you? The way your hair caught the light, the sparkle in your eyes, and the gentle curve of your nervous smile all seemed to pull him back to a time when everything felt right.

It took him some time to come to terms with the fact that you deserved to hear the whole truth. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times, each scenario playing out with different outcomes, but none could prepare him for the reality of standing in front of you again. You were meant to be his future wife, and that meant he had to share everything with you—the good, the bad, and the painful truths he had buried deep within himself.

He had been a mess during your time apart, a whirlwind of emotions that left him feeling lost and hollow. Each day was a struggle, filled with the haunting memories of what once was and the crushing weight of regret. He constantly questioned if he would ever get the opportunity to set things right, just as he had intended to do after leaving the hospital. The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, each moment stretching into an eternity as he grappled with the fear that he might never see you again.

But now, standing before you, he felt a flicker of hope igniting within him. The air was thick with unspoken words, and he knew he had to break the silence. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepared to lay bare his heart. his voice trembling slightly as he spoke

“You’re here.” He broke the silence between you two, opening the door wider for you. Taking a shallow breath in, you made your way inside, dropping your purse on the very coffee table where you left your ring.

You were unsure how to respond, not knowing where to even start. Did you apologize for leaving him through a phone call? Were you supposed to kneel down and begin crying for forgiveness? Do you yell at him for being so cruel to you that night?

Despite everything that went through your head, your first instinct was to smash your lips against his. The world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the intoxicating warmth of his presence. Almost immediately, his hands encircled your waist, drawing you nearer as he surrendered to the sensation of your delicate fingers entwined in his hair, gripping it with fervor.

A shiver cascaded over your skin, a tingly feeling that coursed through your body, and he responded with a gentle smile that rose up, making your heart race even faster. His hands glided up and down your waist in a tender caress, each movement sending an amount of warmth through you. The two of you remained entwined in that moment, lost in the magic of each other’s embrace, the outside world forgotten.

With a hint of reluctance, you pulled away, your breath mingling in the space between you. You observed as his eyes fluttered open after a brief pause. In that fleeting moment of silence, you allowed yourself to admire his features—the way the light danced in his eyes, the gentle curve of his lips, and the way his hair fell effortlessly across his forehead.

A smile blossomed on both your faces, and you felt an overwhelming sense of joy. Without thinking, you leaned back into him, your lips meeting his once more in a fervent kiss, a kiss that spoke of longing, desire, and the promise of what was yet to come. The world around you faded again, and all that existed was the two of you, lost in a moment of finally having each other after months of being separated.

“I’ve missed you so much, don’t ever let me treat you like I did ever again” He spoke between kisses, lifting you up in his arms, and like muscle memory you wrapped your legs around his waist. You let him led you up the stairs and into the room where you’ve done it several times before, only now the two of you were as desperate as ever. He kissed down your neck, unbuttoning you blouse as you tilted you head back. Less and less clothes appeared on your bodies as you finally let out the stress that had been building up between the two of you.

One year and a half later . . .

A gentle smile graced your lips as you sensed a tender kiss upon your temple. As you opened your eyes, you were met with the warm gaze of your husband, his smile radiating affection like the first light of dawn breaking through the darkness. It was a look that spoke volumes, a silent promise of support and devotion that filled your heart with joy.

He drew you nearer, mindful of your belly that carried his child, a precious life that left the both of you feeling excited. Jun-ho entwined your fingers, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding you in the present moment. His other hand lovingly traced the curve of your abdomen, his fingertips dancing lightly over the skin smiling as he felt his baby.

“Can you feel them?” he whispered, his voice breaking the calm atmosphere.You nodded, a smile breaking across your face as you felt the tiny kicks and movements of your little girl.

Jun-ho’s eyes sparkled with excitement. You could see how excited he was of becoming a dad and you shared the same sentiment .

In that intimate space, time seemed to stand still. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the life you were creating together. You felt a swell of happiness envelope you as he pressed another kiss into your hair. As you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. You were nervous of becoming a mother, much like how you felt becoming a wife but your parents, Jun-ho, and your mother-in-law all reassured you.

The moment you exchanged vows, a wave of excitement washed over you. The morning had been a flurry of nerves, each heartbeat echoing in anxiety. You had spent hours meticulously preparing, surrounded by the three remarkable women in your life—your parents, and your mother-in-law. They offered words of encouragement, shared knowing smiles, and reminded you of the love that had brought you to this moment.

After months of planning, every detail painstakingly arranged, you were now united with Jun-ho in the bond of marriage. The weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a lightness that made you feel as if you were floating.

In that instant, the doubts that had once clouded your mind seemed utterly trivial, like wisps of smoke dissipating in the breeze. You realized how silly it was to question if you and Jun-ho were meant to be. The worries that had plagued you—about the future, about compatibility, about the challenges that lay ahead—faded as you met him at the alter.. Jun-ho had showed how much he loved you, his eyes sparkling with sincerity as he spoke words that your souls were eternally intertwined, destined to find each other again and again, no matter the circumstances.

As you looked into his eyes, you felt a profound connection that transcended time and space. It was as if the universe had knew all along you were meant to be together. With each passing second, the joy of your union blossomed within you, filling your heart with an overwhelming sense of happiness. You didn’t have to wait another life to be together with Jun-ho, because you were meant to be in this one.

[yangjungwonisms]

Noona?- YJW

This one’s a little naughty mixed with pure yearning hehe hope you enjoy!

CW: pure filth, NSFW| MDNI 18+

For as long as Jungwon can remember he had feelings for you. He distinctly remembers the very first time he met you. You were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He tried everything he could think of to get to know you but you always kept him at arms length. It also happened that you were 5 years older than him. He was never bothered by your age difference but he was a teenager when you two had met and you never saw him as more than a kid. Still, he tried to get you to notice him, your age gap never bothered him. Especially since he always acted older than his age anyways. It was hard to remember he was so much younger than you because of how mature he was. Slowly but surely you started to let your guard down around him. For one, he was finally able to get you to come over to his place alone.

You always had some kind of idea of his feelings for you. But you were never in a position to allow yourself to imagine any scenario where you two could be together. But lately, you had started to think about him differently. Most of the time you felt confused about your own evolving feelings for Jungwon. He may have been a teenager when you met but he had been an adult for nearly 3 years now. Would it be so wrong to let it happen?

Jungwon had been subtlety dropping hints about his attraction towards you for months now. Normal actions that weren’t inherently sexual such as him putting his hand on your lower back when holding the door open for you and walking in behind you started to shift. It was normal if you were to look at it from an outside perspective. However, his touch had started lingering. Lately he had become much touchier with you than you had ever noticed before. You tried not to overthink anything but you couldn’t help but get worked up over the little touches he’d give you every now and then. Each brush of his fingers against your leg when sitting next to you felt like electricity running through your body. Still, some small part of you was hesitant to get involved with him because of his age. However, over time you had grown accustomed to his presence, he was someone you had grown to rely on quite a bit. The attraction you felt towards each other was never just physical. Jungwon understood you in a way that almost no one else did. You weren’t just some conquest to him. No, he’d been in love with you for a long time. He’d been patient with you though, letting you come to terms with your own feelings for him on your own time. He’d had enough waiting though, he knew how you felt but didn’t understand why you were holding yourself back. He knew you two could be great together if only you’d let your guard down enough to let it happen.

Which is why, when he invited you over for dinner that night he was determined to make it happen between you two. Except when you walked into his apartment he got nervous. You looked beautiful and he couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of pride knowing you’d dressed up so pretty for him. “Wow, Noona you look beautiful all dressed up like that. Did you do all that for me”? Your face immediately turned all red. You attempted to stutter out some kind of excuse but you didn’t have one because you did indeed dress up for him. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t”. He pulled you in for a hug and helped you take off your jacket. Except he just couldn’t help but get lost in the feel of you so close to him. “Mmm and you smell good too. You’re spoiling me Noona. Do you give any of the other guys this kind of special treatment”? He knew the answer was no.

Desperate to change the subject you pull a bottle of wine out of the bag you brought. You were going to wait until dinner to drink but he had started his flirting way earlier in the night than you expected and you were gonna need liquid courage to make it through this. You go to the exact drawer where you know Jungwon keeps a corkscrew so you can open the wine. He’s quick to beat you to it, opening the drawer with ease and passing it to you. The drag of his palm against yours is near torturous, as he’s moving it as slow as humanly possible before finally depositing it in your hand. When he finally pulls his hand away from yours you feel a thin sheen of sweat start to break out over your body. Your hands seemed to be the most affected by the way you’re struggling to open the wine. Jungwon had been watching you from across the room with catlike precision. Before you can even say anything he moves to stand behind you, placing his hand over yours where you’re trying but failing miserably so to open the wine. “Let me help you”. That’s all he says before he starts guiding your movements. He’s standing so close to you that when he breathes you can feel his entire body move against yours. The feeling alone is enough to make you go weak in the knees. You’re holding your breath waiting for him to finally pull away from you. Except he doesn’t, instead he slowly turns you around so now you’re facing him but he’s somehow gotten you caged in between him and the counter. “You’re killing me, do you know that noona”? He didn’t normally call you noona this often. You didn’t like how it made you feel. “What do you mean by that won”? He brings his hand up to your face, moving a stray hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. You subconsciously lean into his touch letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in until he touched you. “Everything you do drives me crazy. I don’t think you know how hard you’re making things for me baby”. The switch from noona to baby had your stomach in knots. You’d inched your face closer to his while he was talking. You were so close that it would only take one brief movement for your lips to touch. “please Jungwon”. You didn’t even know what you were asking for but Jungwon is quick to respond. “Hmm baby? What is it, tell me”. You had closed your eyes, willing yourself to take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down before things went any further. “Wonie, since when do you call me baby”? You’d never called him that before but the sentiment behind it spread a dangerous heat throughout his body. “Oh baby you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to call you this”. He was barely hanging on by a thread being this close to you. “Say it again, please”. “Hmm you like when I talk to you like this baby”? God he had no idea how much you liked it. “To be honest with you won, my body feels like it’s on fire right now with how close you are to me. I can hardly think about anything else”. At that all patience he has is long gone. He succeeds in caging you all the way against the counter. From this angle you can feel every part of his body.

Jungwon was pressed up against you so snugly that he’s leaving very little to the imagination. He’s hard against your thigh, you can almost make out the exact feel of his cock from the sheer proximity. You let out a groan completely surrendering yourself to him at this point. You move your hands up to grab his collar to bridge the gap between your lips. “Fuck, just kiss me Jungwon”. He wasted no time kissing you. He’s imagined the feel of your lips against his for so long that now you’ve let him have a taste there was no going back. The kiss isn’t slow, it’s anything but. Within seconds you two are all over each other. And within minutes you two have moved from the kitchen to the hallway. He’s trying to get you into his bedroom but at the pace you’re both going it’s more likely he’s going to fuck you hard and fast against the wall.

“Fuck, can’t believe you’re letting me kiss you like this noona”. You don’t respond you just slide your hand down his body and started cupping him over his jeans. His hips stutter taking a second to try and ground himself so he doesn’t grind up into your hand. He has no concept of self control right now as he loses himself in the feeling of your hand touching his cock. “oh fuck baby, your hand feels so good on my cock”. At this point he’s losing himself in the sensation of your hand unbuttoning his jeans and sliding your hand into his pants. You waste no time running your hand up and down his shaft trying to get a feel of him. “mm you better get used to the feel of it baby because I’m gonna fuck you so hard you aren’t gonna be able to walk in the morning”.

He’s quick to push your hand out of his pants and pushes you against the wall. His body is flush against yours when he leans back in to kiss you. He takes the opportunity to push the bottom of your dress up over your hips. He’s quick to move his hand in between your thighs. He rubs his thumb over your underwear earning a shudder from you as soon he makes contact with your clit. Your head falls back against the wall leaving your mouth open in a silent moan. In one swift movement Jungwon yanks your underwear down and starts his ministrations on your clit back up. A few minutes later he has two fingers fucking in and out of you at a harsh pace. Once he’s sure you’re ready to take his cock he pulls his fingers out of you which earns him a rather loud whine from you. He pulls his pants and underwear down in one go immediately lining himself up with your entrance. You’re bracing yourself for him to push into you but instead he simply takes the tip of his cock and starts rubbing it against your clit. It only takes him a few minutes to bring you to the brink of an orgasm. “Think you could cum like this noona”? Instead of answering you grip onto his forearm to steady yourself effectively positioning yourself to grind down back and forth on his cock. “want you to fuck me please wonie”. He can only shake his head, his hands seem to have a mind of their own speeding up the pace at which his tip was rubbing your clit. “wanna make you cum like this first noona”. It only takes him another 30 seconds before you’re both moaning into each other’s mouths as you cum.

He wastes no time picking you up and lining his cock up at your entrance. He meets no resistance as he starts to fuck you against the wall. Your body barely having had enough time to recover is shaking with overstimulation. Yet you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s fucking you so good. “you’re such a dirty fucking girl letting me fuck you against the wall like this”. His hips are starting to piston in and out of you at a blinding pace. He can’t help but let out a growl at how good your pussy feels around his cock. “Fuck, been waiting to have you like this for ages baby. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted”. You’re moaning so loud at this point you’re quite sure all of his neighbors can surmise what you’re up to. “You gonna be mine now that I’ve gotten to fuck your tight little pussy noona”? You can’t answer as your second orgasm of the night hits you like a truck and knocks all of the air out of you. You let out a scream so loud it could easily be mistaken as you being murdered. You aren’t sure when he finishes or even when he’s pulled out of you and gotten you into his room. But when you do come to he’s already gotten you cleaned up and changed into something more comfortable.

To your surprise there isn’t any awkwardness between you two. Jungwon is quick to reassure you of his feelings for you “god you look so beautiful right now. I hope you know you’re mine now baby”. You pull him into a deep kiss before adding “good, because I don’t plan on sharing you with anyone else”. He laughed at that before pulling you into his arms and settling down into bed with you.

You two have the what are we conversation the next morning after your haze of lust has lifted. It’s then that Jungwon admits how he truly feels about you and that he’s in love with you. After establishing your relationship he fucks you long and hard in his bed. By the time you two have finished he’s lived up to his promise of you not being able to walk the next morning.

[azzifuddfanpage]

Do a short cruise where Pazzi goes scuba diving while Paige, who’s afraid, hesitates—until Azzi reassures her that everything will be okay! --- S2

Scuba Diving

hiiii thanks for the prompt! Just fluffy! Also sorry if this is kinda sus at the end I wrote this in like 30 minutes and it’s 1 am so ya ————

1.1k words

theme: cruise pazzi/ scuba diving/ facing fears uwu🥺🥺🪼💫✨🌈🌊❤️‍🔥💖☮️

———— The warm summer breeze blew against paige’s face, brushing her long blonde hair behind her shoulders.

Paige glanced next to her, taking in the sight of her girlfriend as the sun shined down on her tanned skin.

Paige smiled, happy to finally be alone with her girlfriend for the first time that day. 

As they stepped off the boat, Azzi began to tug on paige’s arm.

“Come on Paige we are gonna be late, the first slot is at 10:30 and if we don’t get there in time we are gonna have to wait until 11:30.” Azzi said as she lead her onto the sandy pathway. 

Paige scrunched her face, confused, “Wait, I thought we were just gonna chill on the beach. Need to work on my tan,” Paige said, her lips curling into a childish pout.

Azzi turned back to look at her, smiling at the frustrated look on her girlfriend’s face.

“Come on Paige, no way you thought we were gonna go to a literal island and stare at each other the whole time.” Azzi said, reaching out to rub in a patch of left over sunblock she had forced paige to put on.

Paige swatted her hand away, blushing, as Azzi giggled at her.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna object.” Paige said with a smirk.

“Okay well you can stare at me under water.” Azzi said grabbing her hand and pulling her along.

Confused, paige let Azzi take the lead, focusing on the feeling of her girlfriend’s soft hand interlaced with her own.

Suddenly it made sense, as they drew closer to the other end of the small island where another mini boat was set up.

“Swim with the Sealife” was plastered on a sign next to it, along with a shack renting scuba gear.

Paige felt her stomach flip. Paige didn’t really have a fear of being on the water it was more of a fear of what was in it.

Azzi recognized the unusually silent paige, and turned to her, “baby? You good?” She asked picking up on the way her girlfriend’s sun kissed cheeks were a whole lot paler than a few minutes ago.

Paige was embarrassed, she could tell how excited Azzi was about this and knew if she said anything Azzi would turn around and they would head right back to the beach.

On any normal day, paige probably wouldn’t have felt too bad, given she would just make it up to Azzi later that night, and Azzi never really cared what they did as long as they were together, but as paige looked over she saw the way Azzi’s eyes were glowing when she looked at the water.

“Oh nothing I’m just excited.” Paige lied, her enthusiasm a bit fake and she knew Azzi would see right through it.

Azzi gave her a skeptical look but walked over to rent the scuba gear.

Paige anxiously waited, dipping her toe into the water as she stared at the fish swimming below her.

When Azzi returned, she shoved a purple scuba mask, and a pair of purple flippers.

Paiges nervousness faded a bit as Azzi’s dimpled smile stretched across her face.

“Purple.” Paige said grabbing them from Azzi as they walked towards the boat.

“Rewarding you for being such a good girlfriend and going scuba diving with me.” Azzi replied as she stepped off the dock and onto the boat.

It shook a little as she got adjusted, and the driver was waiting patiently.

Paige took a deep breath and stepped on.

As the engine of the boat started, the boat rocked.

Paige let out a little gasp and Azzi looked over at her.

Paiges knuckles were white as she gripped onto the railing of the small motor boat. 

Azzi frowned, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend, “paige what’s wrong, you didn’t have a problem with the cruise ship, why are you scared?” 

“I’m not scared.” Paige said pouting, trying to stand a little taller, but contradicting her hands clinging to the railing for dear life.

“It’s okay if you want to go back.” Azzi said, running her fingers along her back softly.

“Well no reason too since I’m not scared- if you’re scared though then that’s-“ paige started and was interrupted by an increase in the engine causing the boat to lurch forward, paige’s hands switched from the boat to wrapping around Azzi, holding on to her for support.

“Aw Paigey, I thought you weren’t scared.” Azzi said running a hand through her blonde hair, and pushing her head closer to her. 

“Shut up.” Paige said as she buried herself deeper in the crook of Azzi’s neck.

By the time they had reached the diving spot, paige had managed to regain her composure.

Azzi leaned over the edge of the boat, dipping her feet in the water.

“Have you ever seen jaws.” Paige asked, sitting down next to her but keeping her feet in the boat.

“Paige come on you know that movie isn’t real.” Azzi said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. 

“Well sharks are real so you never know.” Paige said, biting her bottom lip as she eyed the water cautiously.

Azzi scooted closer.

“If any shark even comes close to the boat, I will punch it in the nose.” Azzi says teasingly, rubbing paige’s back gently.

“But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, just know that as long as I am here nothing is gonna hurt you.” 

Paige looks up and meets Azzi’s eyes, which are filed with so much love, paige felt like she could do almost anything.

“Fine.” Paige said, sliding the scuba mask onto her face, shaking herself out, letting her fears leave her system.

“Yay! I knew you could do it baby.” Azzi said, doing the same thing.

“Don’t get used to this.” Paige warned. “I swear you are the only person who could ever get me to do this.” Paige sighed shaking her head as she looked at the water below them.

“It’s cuz you love me.” Azzi said, bumping her shoulder playfully. 

Paige smirked, “Yeah yeah.” 

After taking one more look over at Azzi’s eager frame, seeing the excitement and joy, she knew this would be the first of many times that paige would do something like this.

For Azzi, she would face any fear, any obstacle, any conflict that came her way, if it meant she could see that dimpled smile again and again.

[clonerightsagenda]

To celebrate space archives getting published I might as well post an abandoned short story from 3 years ago that deals with a lot of the same themes in a more concentrated way. This is my toxic yuri for 2025. Enjoy and see if you can remember the post I made about it back in 2022.

This Story Was Made Possible By Viewers Like You

I never liked confession cams.

You know, someone sits in a soundproof room with just the cameras and talks all teary-eyed about how they’ve struggled, and how they really feel, now that no one can hear. But of course someone can hear. You can. You’re there, in the room with them, a few months in the future and a hundred miles away. It’s all a performance. Everything is.  

I’m not doing that, ok? This is for me.

They came to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They came with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They came with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I came with nothing. I was already there.

It started the same as always. They jumped when I greeted them and then stole glances at each other’s reactions. No one said anything back. I didn’t expect them to. I’d been getting everything ready. Twenty bedrooms, names on the doors. Lights on, temperature tweaked up there, down here, never quite comfortable. I’m very good at that part of my job.

That first arrival scene goes through a lot of editing. Cut out the boring bits, highlight the quirks that make contestants stand out. The details we highlight set the audience’s perception of each player. Create heroes, villains, characters. No one on these shows presents themselves as they really are. You get the construct.

Me? I get a little bit more.

Let’s skip the boring parts. They milled around for a while before finding their rooms. Most unpacked their clothes. One placed a photograph on her dressing table, angling it so it would be in easy view of the camera. A bid for sympathy, I figured, but my opinion wasn’t the one that mattered.

The files would have told me that her name was Gloria Martina Sosa, contestant ID seventeen, age twenty-nine, pronouns she/her. Employed in finance and competing because her mother needed to pay for a medical procedure. The files would tell me that, but I already knew.

This time, there was a container of chocolates on the table when Gloria inched down the hallway to the dining area. She was good at finding her way around the floorplan already, even though it was designed to send them circling in the wrong direction and bumping into each other. I wondered if they noticed.

She approached the chocolates cautiously. She knew it had to be a test. I knew she liked chocolate.

“Can –” She paused before old-fashioned manners asserted themselves. “May I have one?”

“Yes,” I said.

She slid her hand in. Then she hesitated again, fingers still reaching. “Would you like one?”

I checked to see if someone else had entered the room. Nothing on the visuals from any of the dining room cameras. She was the only one there.

She was talking to me.

“No,” I said, after an obvious pause. Then, because of the manners, “No thank you.”

Her fingers curled around a chocolate. “That was stupid of me.”

I didn’t need to answer that, so instead I thought about her motives. I couldn’t show favoritism; she should know that. Did she want to look empathetic for the audience? She wouldn’t win any points cozying up to me.

Maybe she meant it as a genuine kindness. It was early enough that she might not know better.

“Do you ever wish you could eat?” she asked. The chocolate was in her mouth, but her fingers folded and refolded the square of foil.

Why was she still talking to me? I couldn’t tell her it was against the rules – it wasn’t, officially. So I said, “This won’t make good television.”

Her eyes widened. She was thinking of all the time she’d wasted here, the time her competitors might have been using to build alliances or look for clues. She yanked the container of chocolates off the table and ran back toward the hallway. She’d use them as an offering, maybe, or a bargaining chip. She didn’t say thank you, or goodbye.

Why would she? I’m not a player. I’m the host.

#

I know how this sounds, so let me set the record straight. I’m not an artificial intelligence. People love to claim they’ve invented a thinking machine, but when you drill down to the bones of one you’ll always find an algorithm. Sure, this place runs on all sorts of automation, but at the end of the day, you need a human to come up with a wicked twist or make sure the tracking software doesn’t mix up Mateo and Benjamin because there was a mishap in the laundry room and they’re wearing each other’s clothes. AI doesn’t have the flexibility a project like this demands. I don’t think it ever will. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, since if it happens, I’ll be out of a job. It’s not a great job (I’m making minimum wage here) but I don’t have to pay rent or buy groceries, so the money adds up.

There used to be a whole team – six-hour shifts, front-end and back-end crews – but budget cuts hit everywhere. It gets quiet sometimes, but at least I don’t have to make a big production of hiding when I’m going to the bathroom with a tampon. I do the best I can, drink a lot of coffee, and chalk any delays or mistakes up to a buggy operating system. There are surgeries you can get to keep you sharper – some employers insist on them – but I wouldn’t let anyone stick neurotech in my brain even if I could afford it. Too many horror stories. It’s easy to keep them thinking I’m a machine. I slap a voice filter on, and my disinterest in everyone’s drama means I don’t have to fake sounding inhumanly bored.

But enough about the woman behind the curtain. That’s not what anyone tunes in for.

#

About half the guests roamed the halls after dark the first night, which meant prowlers skulking around corners and smacking into each other. I downed two energy drinks and kept an eye out for the most entertaining close calls so I could cut them together later. On other nights I’d feel safe sneaking some sleep, but the first was always busy.

Gloria stayed in her room. Instead of climbing into bed right away, she knelt and whispered something in Spanish. The translation software would handle that for anyone who wanted to know what she was praying for. I could guess.

When she finished, she looked up. They’re never sure where to focus when they talk to me. I’ve learned to read that lost expression as a sign I’m about to be on call. “If I need something, do I just ask?”

“That’s correct.” When she didn’t say anything else, I continued, “Did you need something?”

“Not right now.” Not from me.

#

The next few weeks passed the usual way. Dean found an immunity stone hidden behind the false back of the pantry. Three different groups swore ill-fated alliances while pretending to be preoccupied with their laundry. The first contestants were voted off, mostly because of dismal challenge performances and in one case because Heather kept stealing other people’s toothpaste. (Luckily for me, I didn’t have to listen to them moping about being eliminated. The losers’ quarters had cameras, of course – everywhere does – but none of those feeds went to my workstation.)

Most of the time the participants treated me as so much background, but there are always exceptions. One afternoon Haruto and Farah were arguing about an inane piece of early twenty-first century pop culture trivia and wanted me to tell them who was right, and Anna was asking about the latest sports scores, and one of the microphones in the dining room wouldn’t connect right even though I’d run troubleshooting, and –

“Is Corey busy?”

I pressed the intercom button for Gloria’s room and said, “One moment, please.” Then I switched channels (click). “The home team won their last game 4 to 1.” Click. “Yes, it was the same actor; they used CGI to make him look younger.” Click. “Sorry for the delay.” I punched in Corey’s ID to pull up the last place the cameras had seen him. “A lot of guests are requesting my services right now.”

I don’t know what did it. Maybe a hint of exasperation crept into my tone, or the keystrokes filtered through the speakers, or a real sentient computer program wouldn’t apologize. Whatever tipped her off, Gloria’s eyebrows pulled down. It wasn’t an expression of surprise as much as it said, ‘I knew it’.  

“You’re not an AI,” she said. “Are you.”

Damn. I could have lied. The producers would’ve wanted me to, but they left me there to play the game however I chose. Besides, I’d already paused too long. A machine wouldn’t have to think about it.

“A lot of the answers are. There’s a library of canned responses for the most predictable questions. I’m here for the more complicated problems.”

“Here?” She spun her eyes around the room like I might pop out of a closet.

“On site. Behind the scenes.”

“But you can see and hear me?” She hunched in on herself. “I don’t like that.”

“You signed up to be on a TV show.”

“That’s different.”

Because I wasn’t an adoring fan. “Did you want an answer to your question?”

“You can see him too?” She was hung up on that considering the position she put herself in. The contracts they signed asked them to give away all sorts of control.

“I can see everyone. I’m not watching all the time, though. That’s part of the automation. I get notified when there’s activity that might be interesting.” I checked the relevant screen, which showed me the feed from camera 251. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Is that interesting?”

“Not according to the system.” Showering would be, because the system’s a pervert. So are the folks back home, although the editors make sure to frame things just right so that we can deny we’re showing anything explicit.

She sighed. She kept her head angled toward the floor, like denying the cameras eye contact preserved some sliver of her privacy. “I guess I can’t opt out.”

“Not until you go home. You could try to be less interesting, but it’ll cost you.” That strayed dangerously close to advice. “I’ll delete this conversation, though. Have to preserve my image.”

That got her head to pop up. “You can do that?”

I wiggled my fingers over the keyboard, a pointless gesture since she couldn’t see me. “As long as you’re in this building, I’m basically God.”

“God.” Her lip curled. I’d seen her praying earlier. Maybe my boast sounded like blasphemy. “What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve got rules. Sorry,” I added, repeating that human touch that betrayed me.

“I don’t know why I asked.” She looked away from the camera again. “Don’t watch me sleep.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She was pretty. But watching a pretty woman over the cameras isn’t automatically creepy. If it is, what does that say about you?

I tried to keep my word. Gloria wanted to believe she still had boundaries, and unlike our loyal viewers, I don’t get my kicks spying on people. Every so often, though, my eyes crept back to her square on my monitor. I knew so much about these people, and she was the only one who knew I existed. That knowledge was like a blinking notification that never went away.

#

I didn’t expect Gloria to talk to me again, and for a few days she didn’t. She sat in silence while I announced the day’s events or when other participants asked me questions, a frown mostly smoothed off her face. I saw it, though. That’s what she was frowning about.

Four days after our conversation, she was tearing her room apart looking for something. It’d been twenty minutes, and she wasn’t going to find it. I was waiting for her to figure that out. She groaned, tilted her head up, and asked, “Do you know where my charger is?”

“Under the sofa in the living room.”

She jumped. “That was fast.”

“Pretty good AI impression, right?” I hadn’t been watching her sleep, but I’d been paying attention. So sue me. If she decided to spill my secret, I’d have to… well, I didn’t know. It had never happened before.

“Is anyone else there right now?”

“Haruto and Farah.” Still arguing, somehow. Getting worked up about each other’s vintage cinema opinions was their version of entertainment.

She sighed and sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t want to get sucked into whether we need any more live action remakes. Can you tell me when they leave?”

“Sure.” Informal. I was slipping.

She drummed her ankles against the floor and then, with a huff, hopped up again and began straightening the mess she made. She wasn’t a woman who liked to be still. I wasn’t surprised when she broke the silence. “Does anyone else know?”

“If they’ve guessed, they haven’t said anything. This isn’t a test, or one of the puzzles you’re supposed to solve. You weren’t supposed to notice.”

She slammed a drawer. “Do you like spying on people?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She snorted. “It’s a job. A boring one, most of the time. Alerts tell me when any of you do something relevant, and then I cut the best footage together and send it back to the real editors. I’m not watching you every second. Who would want to?”

That got her to stop folding a shirt and look up at camera 387 so I’d be sure to see the disgusted expression on her face. “The fans?”

Fair point. “I forget about them sometimes.”

“I doubt your bosses would be happy to hear that.” She moved on to stuffing toiletries back into her bag, but her movements were less ferocious. “How did you end up working here?”

“I worked as set crew on a few smaller projects. I didn’t get training for it, but I’m good at picking up just enough to make myself useful.” That’s what kept me around through round after round of layoffs. I learned the bare bones of other people’s jobs, and upper management decided bare bones was enough. That kind of approach doesn’t make friends in the workplace, but neither does getting fired. And hey, it worked out that I’m not a team player. The only one on my team now is me.

“Do you like reality TV?”

“Hell no.” I couldn’t believe anyone would put up with the genre without getting paid for it. “But a job’s a job. Did you always dream about starring in something like this?”

She paused, clutching a bottle of perfume. “Not like this.” She took a bracing whiff – the label said orange vanilla, but smell is one thing I can’t piggyback on. “You’ll delete this?”

The start of our conversation was already flagged. “Speak freely.”

“I liked the romantic ones when I was younger. The fairy tale element; I read a lot of fairy tales growing up. Later I realized how artificial they were, but you keep hoping.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

Neither could I. Then again, they were encouraged to bare their souls for the cameras. It must be a hard habit to break. “Given the data I’ve collected, I think Anna is your one true love.”

Instead of laughing, she shoved the perfume into her bag. “I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

She zipped up the bag, stood, and looked right at the camera, hands on hips. It was the closest I’d come to eye contact with someone in months. “How much do you know about me?”

“Mostly what’s in your files.” I reread them after she caught me. I had her entire application packet, every official scrap of information the network collected.

“And I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know I don’t like reality TV.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

She shot the question at me, and I responded reflexively. “Blue. At least it is now. I don’t see the sky much on this job.”

“Blue.” She digested that and looked past the cameras, up to the ceiling and the sky beyond that she’d only see through windows until the game was over. “I miss it too.”

“Now you know one thing about me. Happy?”

“Can I ask more, later?” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth; I think the question surprised her as much as it did me. “I don’t like being watched by a stranger. I can’t stop you watching, but I can stop you from being such a stranger.” A crafty spark entered her eyes. “You are here to answer our questions. That’s what they told us in orientation.”

They did tell them that. “I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But be careful. I don’t want everyone in the house asking me for my biography.”

#

Gloria was the one on camera, but she was the one who forgot herself. She was standing in the kitchen running a plate under the water when she looked toward a camera and asked, “What do you eat?”

“Uh,” said Benjamin, waiting for his turn at the sink. “Are you talking to me?”

“Based on existing data, Benjamin enjoys soy-based products and fresh fruit,” I said in my best automaton voice.

At least she caught on quick. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to rinsing pasta sauce off her dishes.

After she retreated to her room, she said, “I’m guessing I’m not supposed to socialize with you.”

“There aren’t any rules against it,” I said, which wasn’t a no, and then followed it up with, “It’s not the most strategic use of your time,” which wasn’t a yes.

“I need a break from everything out there sometimes. At least I know what you’re lying about.”

Safer not to comment on that one. Besides, she was still going.

“Mateo is always trying to make sure the cameras get his good side; you know he’s here to make a name for himself. And Anna keeps talking about how she wants to buy her own automated mansion, like she can’t imagine going back to having to manually turn on the lights. They’re so trivial. It makes me want to toss them out a window and tell them to come back when they have something serious to compete for.”

I didn’t comment on that either, but I could’ve. The truth was, at least half the participants needed the money for reasons beyond popularity contests or tech upgrades. It didn’t matter. If I told her, she wouldn’t think they deserved it as much as she did. Even without the files, I could have read her life story in her unblemished skin and name brand outfits. She’d never sweated through record-breaking summers because during surge periods companies always cut off the poorest neighborhoods first. She wrinkled her nose at the cricket flour crackers in the pantry like someone who had the luxury to leave food on her plate. She had no idea how many people watched her and wished they could take her place – not for a chance at a cash prize or fifteen minutes of fame, but just to have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat. When people watch shows like this, it’s not about rooting for an individual, not really. It’s about constructing elaborate narratives about themselves. Wanting participants, wanting to be them: there’s not much of a difference in the end. They’re all different flavors of consumption. Some players catch on faster and embrace being the product.

But Gloria was used to being on the other side of the equation. She’d been comfortable her whole life, and this medical bill was the first time she hadn’t had enough to make the world work the way she wanted. So she came running here for a fairy tale ending, because of course she was entitled to that along with everything else.

You’d think people like me who’ve been struggling their whole lives would fight hardest, but people like that? They get vicious.

Instead I said, “So you’re saying it’s nice to talk to me.”

“It’s a change.”

I minimized camera 16’s window where Richard and Destiny are gearing up to either start a fight or swap spit. Hard to tell with those two. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What do you think of us? You watch us all day.”

“Not all day, I told you. Honestly it’s – did you ever work customer service?” Her eyebrows jumped. I could’ve guessed that too. “Well, in that kind of job, you don’t pay much attention to individuals. You’re all one big crowd. Of course, you’re also my only live entertainment. Could you do anything more interesting?”

“Any suggestions?”

“Steal Corey’s watch.”  

She laughed. Corey told everyone who would listen how expensive his custom-made timepiece was. His audience hung on to every word, although they were mostly hanging on to his cheekbones. “That won’t get me any votes.”

“I’d vote for you.”

“You mean you’re not charmed by him?”

“Not my type.”

“Not mine either.”

I know, I thought, but I didn’t say it. She didn’t like to be reminded.

#

Gloria didn’t steal Corey’s watch. The next time he made a production of giving someone the time she looked right at the nearest camera, and I almost choked on my protein bar laughing.

After she left that conversation, she slipped into her room and leaned against the door. “You always delete the video when I’m talking to you, right?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good to send it on.”

Her shoulders loosened. It was surprising, and a little gratifying, that my presence now made her relax. “In the real world, you’re pressured to be doing something useful with every second of your life. In here, every second you’re performing for the cameras. It’s nice to be able to stop.”

I covered a yawn with one hand and reached for my coffee. “At least you get regular rest periods. I can’t give you details, but some people were keeping me up last night.”

She frowned. “Would you rather I let you go?”

The frown was also gratifying. “No, there’s enough I need to monitor right now anyway. Just keep your activities within regular business hours. That’ll make you a model participant in my book.”

“I’ll try.” She settled onto her bed and stretched her arms over her head, bending back the wrists. Then she asked, abruptly, “Do you have a favorite guest?”

“I’m not supposed to pick favorites. I won’t name names, but my least favorite is someone who starts whistling when they’re trying to concentrate. I always get the tune stuck in my head.”

“I’d hate that too.” She dropped her arms down and rested her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t seem fair. You get to see all of us, and I don’t get to see you.”

“It’s for the best that you can’t.” I shifted in my chair where I was sitting cross-legged in sweatpants I’d been wearing for three days straight. “I don’t have to be presentable to anyone back here. My hair’s a mess.”

She shrugged. “It would be nice to see any new face. Can you tell me what you look like?”

“Better not.” There weren’t any rules against that either – no one would’ve thought we needed them. But I wasn’t there to be looked at. “Just… imagine me. Whatever you’d like.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

#

For the next month, I watched from my hundreds of cameras and listened through my hundreds of microphones. I scoured test banks for trivia questions and rearranged the responsive floor plan to build obstacle courses. I beamed everything back to our viewers, and the network compiled data to send back. Their demands were predictable. So-and-so is popular; be sure to get close-ups. Contestants X and Y don’t get along. Trap them in a room together with a malfunctioning door. Sometimes the instructions were specific, but often they just told me what the audience wanted. By now, I knew how to get it.

While I did that, I watched Gloria. She was average, as these things go. She lasted longer than half the participants in a challenge where I cranked the temperature lower and lower. Then she flopped when asked to identify the fake headline in a social media feed. She nodded to cameras with a half-smile, and although she could be doing it for the viewers, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it for me.

She stayed kinder than I expected, even as everyone dropped the niceties and the game turned into a bloodbath of votes and eliminations. I’m not usually wrong reading people. I have so much to go on.

She kept talking to me late at night. Participants are promised some privacy in their bunks. (If they read their contracts line by line they know better. Viewers get very interested whenever a player invites someone else in. That was happening in two locations, so it was easy to cover up my own indiscretions.)

“Do you know what’s happening back home?

“Only what the network sends me.” I didn’t miss it. Participants signed up for fame or money, but escape would work as well. At least locked in this house, the problems weren’t real. You knew the challenges were fake, and everyone went to bed with a full stomach at the end of the day. It’s not a bad gig, really.

“I don’t know how my mother’s doing.” She was staring at the ceiling instead of making virtual eye contact with me. “Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t get back in time. It feels like it’s been longer than a few weeks.”

She didn’t seem to be waiting for a response. They were encouraged to think out loud for the cameras.

#

Nine weeks into this round of the game, she was in trouble. We didn’t talk about it. I was supposed to be her refuge from all that. Ridiculous, if you think about it, but we all have our illusions. She didn’t have access to viewer opinion polls or other players’ confessions, but I could tell from the way she held herself that she knew. If she didn’t win this week’s challenge, she was gone.

That shouldn’t have bothered me. I don’t pick favorites. Players come and go and nothing changes. Except…

I used to talk to my coworkers’ empty chairs to hear my own voice. I erased crosswords and started them again. The job without Gloria would be… boring. I didn’t want to look across all my monitors and not see her there.

I’ve never related to the viewers who root for their favorite contestant. This was different. They’re behind a screen watching the edited version of a woman from miles away, a woman who doesn’t even know they exist. I knew her. She knew me.

She didn’t ask for my help. I’d like to imagine she respected my integrity or didn’t want to risk my job, but I saw the way she threw herself into trying to shore up shaky alliances, too little too late. She’d rather rely on herself. I might be the all-seeing eye and the voice in her ear when she went to sleep, but when it comes to playing the game, no one pays attention to the help.

My inbox dinged. The network was responding to my latest batch of video. I skimmed through it: suggestions for contrived scenarios to start people fighting, instructions to let the showers break down, standard stuff. Then, at the end: We need new topics for this week’s trivia challenge. Any ideas?

The challenges got repetitive after a while. Production was always looking for suggestions. I opened a reply, started typing, and then paused.

I could help. No one would know. Gloria would be here, with me, for another week.

It wouldn’t be my first case of workplace dishonesty. I’d fibbed on timesheets and extended my breaks like everyone has. I’d kept my mouth shut and let coworkers take the fall for my mistakes. This was interference with the outcome of the show, though. I could get fired.

Who was going to catch me? Me?

I typed, What about fairy tales?

#

Gloria was exultant. She won the trivia challenge, securing her place for the week and spurring a nasty double cross in an alliance that had been planning on forcing her out. She paced back and forth in her room, rehashing her triumph. I responded with customer service hmms. It didn’t occur to her that I might be behind the convenient choice of topics. Which was fine. If she realized, she might let it slip, or expect more favors, and I’d risked enough already. It was fine that I was everywhere controlling everything and she still acted like she had no idea. People like her are the same everywhere. They assume the world runs itself.

“If I win next week’s challenge and Richard and Destiny stay on bad terms, I have a chance,” she said. “I could win.”

I didn’t say much in response. Maybe she thought I was being careful not to spill any show secrets, or maybe to her I was just another audience member witnessing her triumph. I’d had so much time to watch and still had trouble reading her.

I’m not omniscient, is the point. I never had the power to read her mind or control her or even save her in the end. I was only ever buying time.

I’d built a habit of letting emails pile up and answering them when I felt like it, but now I never closed my inbox. I took my phone with me on bathroom breaks or rare trips outside. Of course, if the network found out what I’d done, they might not bother with professional communication. They might send a crew in with no notice to throw me out on my ass.

That dampened my enthusiasm as Gloria dreamed of making the final three. Household malfunctions rose. I got jumpy. Anna asked me a question, and I froze, because for a moment I thought I’d been caught. A spam email snuck through my filter, and I spilled my energy drink all over the keyboard when I heard the notification. I wanted to scream through the intercoms, Don’t you know what I can do? What I’ve already done? You don’t even know that I’m here.

Instead I turned the heat up two degrees and reassured Anna that she’d buttoned up her dress correctly.  

#

In the end, I didn’t get caught. The shutdown order came for different reasons. Mateo, a fan favorite, had settled into a committed relationship. The move wasn’t popular with viewers. They liked him as a heartbreaker with someone else in his bunk every night. I don’t get the appeal, but ratings are ratings.

End the game, wipe their memories, and start over, the message said, with a list of new parameters to try. Just like the last four times I got this email. Neurotech sure has expanded the boundaries of reality programming.

Like I said, I’ve got horror stories.

I flicked through the changes. The bulk were new living arrangements and challenges tailored to different participants’ skills. The true appeal was more pathos for viewers to sigh over, as former lovers betrayed each other and friends met again as strangers. They eat it up so much I wonder if the game will ever end.

Maybe I should be happy about that. It’s job security.

I could see Gloria out of camera 43. She was selecting a meal packet and humming to herself. I wanted to warn her, to say that every time before this she’d become someone shut off or brittle or cruel, and that I liked her better this way. I wanted to tell her it’d been thirteen months since she saw her mother, not two. I wanted to ask if she had any idea. But I signed a contract too.

Instead I waited until after lights out and said, “Let me show you something.”

Gloria trusted me enough by now that she waited until I’d directed her to a blank stretch of wall to ask, “Why did you bring me here?”

“If you compare the interior to the outside of the house, this can’t be an exterior wall. There’s too much space. You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t.”

She did in three of the other versions. Gloria had rarely been a model participant. She’d explored more, discovered more, when she wasn’t talking to me. “When people do, I tell them it’s not part of the game. It’s where we keep some of the machinery used to run the facilities.”

“What’s really on the other side?”

“Me.”

She started at that, looking from the camera to the wall and back again, like she assumed I lived in the fiber optics. “You’re there?”

“In my own set of apartments. It’s roomy now that I’m the only one. There’s a side door, so I even get a little sun sometimes. There’s a lot of machinery back here with me, though. We try not to lie when we can tell part of the truth. Makes it easier to keep track of everything.”

She reached out and presses her hand to the chipped paint of the wall. “You were always right here.”

“Hang on, I’m at a different terminal.” I hopped out of my chair and squeezed myself between my desk and the one that used to belong to Paulo before the last round of cutbacks. “Now I’m right there.” I was simplifying things, of course. There was at least a foot of wires and paneling between us, but it was still the closest we’d ever been. I reached out to press my hand to the wall and imagined the touch of another human’s skin against my own.

This was my last chance to tell the truth. I could reveal everything, lead her to the emergency exit only I knew about, and invite her to run away with me to… what? We were both there because we needed something, and the world won’t give you anything for free. In this house, blasphemy or not, I was basically God. I could steer her away from danger. I could construct a narrative. Outside, I couldn’t create a happy ending for either of us.

From what I knew of Gloria Martina Sosa, the many possible Gloria Martina Sosas who had walked under this roof, she would hate me for keeping this from her.

It was a good thing she didn’t know me at all.

“Why did you decide to tell me now?” she asked.

There were a lot of things I could have said. Because this version of you dies tomorrow. Because there are bigger rules I won’t break, and I want to believe I’m a person who would break some of them, for you. Because I’m saying goodbye, and you don’t even know it.

“Because we’re getting close to the end now,” I said. “You’ll be too busy soon to think about me.”

“It’s hard to not think about you when you’re watching all the time. Especially now that I know exactly where you are.” She ran her fingers across the paint before pulling away. “Maybe when this is over I’ll be able to see you face to face.”

I couldn’t hesitate. If I hesitated, she might guess something is wrong, and my entire job relied on returning polished answers with mechanical precision. “That would be nice.” I was using my work voice, all business. “You should get back to bed before anyone wonders why you’re up.”

She smiled – at the wall rather than the camera. She might have been looking toward me, but that means she didn’t meet my eyes. “Are you worried about my beauty sleep?”

“Rest is important,” I said. “I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I’m rooting for you.”

Thanks to my instructions, she made it back without running into anyone, turning corners and ducking into rooms without a word of protest. Once I delivered her to her room, she dimmed the lights and slipped into bed to while away the last few hours this version of her would ever see.

I watched her fall asleep, and I didn’t say a word.

Maybe next time.

#

They were called in for a medical check-up the next morning. “Is this a challenge?” Gloria asked while getting dressed.

“No,” I said. “It’s perfectly normal.” The producers would be pleased. I’d never sounded less human.

#

Teardown procedure between rounds was always the same. I filled out the standard paperwork and finished packaging the last days of footage to be shipped back to the editors. My email inbox could be thinned out. I’d gotten practiced, and none of the tasks took long. Then it was just me, the empty house, and Gloria’s ghost roaming the silent halls.

If you look at it right, I’m doing her a favor. Outside the house, the monsters are so much worse than me. People want to be you, or have you, and they’ll eat you alive. People who grew up like me would understand. They might even ask me to do the same for them.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to justify myself. My job is to watch and record, not to editorialize. There’s no reason for me to sit down in front of the camera and say, My name is Cal, and there’s nothing I could have done. But I guess I’ve caught the narrative bug after watching everyone else spin out their stories, because here I am making my recording. Wishing there was someone on the other side of the screen to turn me into someone new.

I have no illusions that I would be an audience favorite. That’s never been my role.

An email with the finalized set-up for round six arrived in my inbox, and I scanned it so I’d be prepared. There will be no chocolates next time. Every round, the producers try something different. But I will say hello, and maybe this time she will say it back.

#

They come to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They come with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They come with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I come with nothing. I was already here.

[electronickingdomfox]

Star Trek TOS slash bits (Season three)

This is my personal rundown of all the slash scenes in TOS season three. I've omitted episodes when I didn't find anything remarkable in them.

-What I count: lingering touches or affectionate looks, clinginess, actions that show a strong concern/familiarity with each other, suggestive scenes...

-What I DON'T count: friendly gestures (like smiling or looking amused when someone says something funny), scenes taken out of context, physical proximity just because there's not enough space...

I'll try to illustrate some scenes when necessary, though screenshots usually don't do justice to it.

For season one analysis go here. For season two, go here.

Spectre of the Gun:

McSpirk The mind-meld scene. For Kirk, this was his first mind-meld, for McCoy the third, if you count the one with Mirror Spock. Actually, Spock also mind-melds with Scotty here, but in my opinion, the scenes with Kirk and McCoy look much more intimate. Almost like love scenes, while Scotty's seems a more clinical meld. For comparison:

The Paradise Syndrome

McSpirk At first McCoy is infuriated by Spock's decision to take care of the asteroid before rescuing Kirk, though then he submits to his very logical reasons for doing so (explained with rocks, so the doctor can get it). McCoy will spend the rest of the episode entering Spock's cabin every five minutes, to see if he's getting enough rest. While Spock works himself to exhaustion, trying to figure out a way to divert the asteroid and save Kirk (granted, he also wants to save the rest of the planet, but still...). Also, McCoy tries to comfort Spock, by telling him it wasn't his fault the ship was crippled, and that Jim would have done the same. For his part, Kirk isn't very worried about Spock and McCoy, but that's because he's being KIROOOK!! and can't even remember them.

And the Children Shall Lead

Spirk The famous turbolift scene. When Kirk feels he's losing command, he first grabs Spock in a panic, and then literally throws himself into his arms, in a half intimate, half awkward scene. It's only when Spock whispers "Jim" to him, that Kirk regains his confidence.

Spock's Brain

Spirk Kirk's anxiety when he discovers Spock's brain has been stolen. He argues with McCoy just because he can't replace a brain, and is determined to search the entire galaxy to save Spock, if needed. Later, when he hears Spock's disembodied voice, his face reflects absolute bliss:

Spock also says that he feels a distinct pleasure upon hearing his Captain's voice.

Spones McCoy doesn't hesitate for an instant to use the knowledge helmet to save Spock, even when warned about the possibility of it killing him. And Spock begs McCoy not to jeopardize his life for his sake.

McKirk This... this moment (nothing said):

Is There in Truth no Beauty?

Spirk At first, Kirk is all gallantry and pleasantries with Dr. Miranda Jones... Until he starts suspecting that she may have hurt Spock on purpose, out of jealousy. Then he turns absolutely nuts, accusing and threatening her, in the hopes that this will stir her conscience to save Spock's damaged mind. The whole scene is actually quite uncomfortable to watch.

Spones McCoy seems very angry and/or worried when Spock praises Uhura's beauty after his mind-meld with Kollos (jealousy?), and quickly points out that this can't be Spock. Though he's immediately relieved when Spock replies in his usual tone, proving that Spock's still there. It's noteworthy that Kollos had showed ample signs of being controlling Spock before this moment, like making him smile. Yet McCoy only reacts once Spock/Kollos starts flirting with Uhura.

Apart from this, there's Miranda's jealousy about Spock and Kollos, since she perceives their union as far closer than what she could ever achieve. Miranda is in love with Kollos, so Spock functions as a kind of romantic rival, at least in her mind.

The Empath

McSpirk It's like... the whole episode. But there are certain scenes that stand out. First we have Kirk offering himself as test subject for the Vians, as long as they leave his friends alone. Then McCoy sedates Kirk, knowing that he'd subject himself to the torture if awake. But his plan backfires, since this leaves Spock in command, and of course he wants to sacrifice himself to protect the doctor. At one point, Gem touches Spock's shoulder, and through her empathic powers she senses something in him that makes her smile with fondness; presumably, his deep love for his friends. McCoy is determined to be the one tortured, though, so he also knocks Spock out, even if the Vians had previously said that he was the most likely to die. Afterwards, Kirk and Spock gently hold the dying McCoy, with Spock touching his face, and McCoy complimenting him for his "bedside manner". Kirk tries to convince Gem to save McCoy, by all means possible, and has to restrain his strong emotions in order to break free from the force field. It's really a lot. After all, the whole point of the episode is that Gem learns about love and self-sacrifice by observing these three particular individuals.

The Tholian Web

Spirk Spock insists on staying in Tholian space, despite the danger it poses to ship and crew, for the remote possibility that Kirk may still be alive. McCoy points out the illogic in such an action, and this is one of the main causes for their disagreement.

Spones Spock and McCoy are very tense with each other in the first part. But after seeing Kirk's last message (that pretty much amounts to saying that they complement each other) they make peace, and McCoy apologizes and acknowledges Spock as Captain. They almost get into another argument because McCoy's being affected by the spatial distortion too, but he quickly apologizes again, before collapsing in Spock's arms (and how convenient that everybody else becomes crazy and murderous, yet McCoy's reaction is fainting on Spock...)

By the end of the episode, they're toasting together and have grown fond of each other. Kirk notices the change and teases them, so they reveal how difficult was working together. However, they don't give him the satisfaction, and even deny having seen his message.

For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky

McKirk Kirk is very angsty and pained upon learning that McCoy only has one year of life left. But he's even worse once he learns that McCoy won't be spending that year with them, but with Natira. Apart from this, Kirk is pretty touchy whenever McCoy is feeling bad.

At times, Kirk and Natira almost seem like romantic rivals, in a competition for McCoy. Further expressed by their parallelisms: both Kirk and Natira are leaders of men, burdened by enormous responsibilities, and this position has forced them to lead solitary lives.

Spones Less evident, but when Spock grabs McCoy's arm to prevent him from getting up, McCoy looks at the hand and seems surprised and moved by the gesture.

McSpirk In the end, McCoy chooses to go back with Kirk and Spock, even if this means losing Natira. And he does so even before they find a cure for his illness! His situation is literally the same, so it's a choice born of free will. Besides, Natira knows that McCoy won't stop disobeying the Oracle and thinking about his friends as long as they're alive.

Plato's Stepchildren

McSpirk Similar to "The Empath", the whole plot revolves around Kirk, Spock and McCoy sacrificing themselves for each other. First, Kirk and Spock are subjected to the Platonians' humiliation because they refuse to leave McCoy behind. And when McCoy can't bear their torture anymore, he agrees to be a prisoner of the Platonians in exchange for their freedom, though Kirk talks him out of it. They're both also very concerned about Spock's wellbeing, after the Platonians force him to show emotions. And Spock can't contain his rage at having almost killed Kirk.

Wink of an Eye

Spirk When Deela monitors Kirk's actions, she notices that he's trying to communicate with Spock. And from this she concludes that humans are quite capable of affection. She's not speaking about "friendly affection" precisely, because she hopes that Kirk will show it to her too, and this makes Rael quite jealous.

That Which Survives

McKirk A bit of a silly example, but Kirk and McCoy probably didn't need to sleep so close together (and so awkwardly), with so much free terrain around.

The Mark of Gideon

Spirk In the beginning, Kirk looks at Spock with fondness and regrets that he can't accompany him down to the planet, which he describes as a paradise.

Requiem for Methuselah

McSpirk The final scene, where Spock makes Jim forget through a mind-meld, is often interpreted as pure K/S. That is, McCoy is nasty towards Spock for not feeling love; Spock proves him wrong by showing his love for Kirk; the end. But I think that this interpretation ignores certain elements in the story, and some things don't make much sense. In particular, the assumption that McCoy is simply being nasty. First, why would he insult Spock now? They don't even argue in this episode, there's no previous conflict between them to prompt this. Second, would McCoy really believe that Spock doesn't understand love, when a moment ago Spock showed a perfect understanding of Rayna's dilemma? ("The joys of love made her human, and the agonies of love destroyed her.") So, the way I see it is thus. There's a parallel between the love triangle of Kirk/Rayna/Flint (discussed right before McCoy's speech), and the triangle of Kirk/Spock/McCoy. Pretty much like Flint tried to extract emotions from Rayna, McCoy tries to extract the same from Spock. He's been doing it for the whole series, but it was also seen in this episode, when McCoy wanted to see Spock drunk, or celebrated that Spock admitted an emotion: envy. And here he's doing it again, with his speech as a revulsive for Spock to acknowledge his love and act accordingly. The difference is that, while Flint was motivated by selfish reasons, McCoy is doing it not just for Spock, but also for Kirk. His deep worry and love for Jim makes him wish he could forget. And it's this suggestion what finally sets Spock into motion. In a breach of logic, and probably Vulcan manners too, he mind-melds with Kirk to erase his pain. It's a complex scene, but all three characters are deeply intertwined in it, with each caring for the other two (well, except Kirk who's sleeping at the moment...).

The Savage Curtain

Kirk is absurdly in love with Lincoln, and he has this dreamy, goofy smile on his face every time he looks at him. Despite knowing very well that he's not the real Lincoln. Despite McCoy calling him on his bullshit... Lincoln is just THAT irresistible.

Even Spock admits that he too "experienced his charm"!

All Our Yesterdays

Spones And how! In the first part, Spock is constantly looking after McCoy and caring for him. When McCoy falls on the snow half-frozen, Spock refuses to leave him behind (despite McCoy's pleas for Spock to save himself), because they "go together, or not at all". Later, in the cave, Spock puts the doctor to bed and leans over him on several ocassions, mostly focused on his recovery, even if this prevents him from searching for Jim or an escape.

Once Spock begins to revert to his ancestors and show an interest in Zarabeth, is conflict time instead. In particular, McCoy's outburst at Zarabeth, and his accusations that she's lying and just wants to keep Spock for herself, sound like a bout of jealousy. As a matter of fact, it IS true that only Zarabeth is trapped in that world, but McCoy has no way of knowing that, and no proof that she's being dishonest. After this outburst, Spock pins McCoy to the wall in a very tense scene, while McCoy grabs his arms the whole time. And it's only then that Spock realizes what's going on with him.

In the end, when forced to choose between staying with Zarabeth, or going back with McCoy, Spock chooses the doctor. As he said in the beginning, they go together or not at all.

McKirk Much less obvious, but McCoy is constantly asking about Jim, and tells Spock to stop worrying about him and go find Jim instead.

Turnabout Intruder

Spirk Kirk (inside the body of Janice Lester) convinces Spock to perform a mind-meld on him, by saying that Spock is closer to the Captain than anyone in the universe, and that he knows his thoughts. Once he learns the truth, Spock takes Kirk by the wrist to accompany him outside the cell. Spock touches people more often than is usually believed, but here in particular is a tender gesture, not strictly necessary.

Apart from this, Dr. Coleman seems to still love Janice, no matter the body she inhabits. There's this scene where Janice (inside the body of Kirk) approaches him seductively, and places a hand on his shoulder. From the point of view of the audience, it's one of the most explicitly gay scenes in the whole series (and extra points for Shatner for choosing to play it that way; there was nothing of the sort in the script).

Summary

Spirk: 7 out of 24 episodes Spones: 5/24 McKirk: 4/24 McSpirk: 6/24

A big increase for McSpirk, in relation to previous seasons.

[goldsbitch]

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 7, part 2 - A bit of a bad boy

It's no coincidence Cruel Summer came out that year...

or - ✨ Austria 2019.✨

word count: reasonable warning: hard racing

Two entire races go by before he gets so much as a glance from Charles. In both of those, Charles ends up ahead of Max. It feels like getting personally kicked in the balls. Max plays the PR game the best to his abilities and self-control, but behind the scenes, it's a total mayhem. Anyone who questions him about anything receives a snapshot answer. He hands out sarcastic comments like Halloween candy. The only time he laughs is when he beats Daniel in their little video game nights.

The first week, Max loses all remaining inhibitions and keeps blasting Charles' phone up with calls and texts. Unhinged amount of advances, jokes and random questions. No reaction.

The second week, he goes radio silent and tries to get hold of Charles around the paddock. He never goes looking for other drivers after the race, especially when they get to stand on the podium and he doesn't. As always, restraint regarding Charles never comes as easily. However, the Monegasque is always two steps ahead of him.

Alas, finally, they end up next to each other in a post-qualifying media pen in Spielberg. Max is not subtle about trying to catch Charles' eye. For a brief moment, he does. It turns his stomach over immediately. Max searches Charles’ face like it holds an answer, some kind of hidden message buried beneath the surface, but there’s nothing. Not a flicker of hesitation, no softness, no ghost of the Charles he used to know. They used to share a look that would say it all. No trace of that now.

His expression is cool, unbothered, a perfect mask of professionalism. The same way he looks at a journalist asking a pointless question, or a sponsor he doesn’t particularly care about. Detached. Uninterested.

Max wants to do anything else than be swamped by useless questions now. Not when he's eating crumbs in the form of overhearing Charles' voice. He has to force himself to even look at the journalist standing in front of him, let alone take in what she has to say. Charles, on the other, does not seem to share this problem. His voice is passionate, excited and his words land like a punch in the face. Max can't see it, but since he'd studied Charles from every angle possible, to be able to picture his smile clearly, just based on the tone. It's the nonchalant, I'm-the-world's-sweetheart smile that always works on everyone. Max is secretly present on social media, he has seen the fan edits of his - well, not boyfriend apparently.

"Charles, you seem to be on a great run of form lately, have you and the team at Ferrari found good rhythm after the unfortunate Monaco Grand Prix?"

Max has heard many things on that topic from the restless Reb Bull strategists. All of them flaunting ideas and theories around, none of them realizing what Max knew. That the magic fuel Charles is running on is spite. He asks the journalist in front of him to repeat the question, while he focuses on Charles' answer.

"Ah, you know how it is...The start of the season has been challenging. Changing teams, new environment...All of this takes time to process. But, I am stronger than ever. I've cut away all unnecessary distractions keeping me from being locked in on the target and pulling me to the wrong direction. With the amazing team I have - I am finally recognizing myself in the mirror after few strange months."

Charles must know that he can hear every word coming out of his mouth. Max's blood boils and freezes at the same time. He doesn’t react. Giving away anything more seems like a direct pathway to hell.

He stands there, nodding absently to whatever the journalist in front of him is saying, his mind busy with reading in between the lines, Charles' words echoing through the media pen like a fucking death sentence.

Distraction. That’s all he's reduced him to. His heart beats like it's about to go to a fight. The realization settles in his stomach, cold and heavy. He tilts his head slightly, just enough to catch Charles in his peripheral vision.

He’s still talking, crafting the perfect story. His posture is easy, he's leaning closer to the reporter than one probably should, his voice is smooth and warm. It has the word likable written all over it.

It's hardly a surprise that the reporters eat up every single sentence he says, playing up to be the golden boy everyone wants him to be.

And maybe he is. Charles keeps getting better and better at this - playing the part, giving people what they want. He’s charming and sharp, smart enough to be a goddamn PR dream but ruthless enough to keep them all at arm’s length. Except he wasn’t like that with Max.

No. With Max, he was real. Unfiltered. Messy. The kind of Charles who picked fights just to feel something, who grabbed Max’s face like he couldn’t breathe without kissing him, who pressed his forehead against his in the middle of the night and whispered things he could never say in the daylight. The kind of person who acted on what his heart desired, instead of what reason demanded. That's not the Charles standing next to him.

Something inside Max cracks. It doesn’t come in a rush - it settles, careful and slow, a icy coldness spreading through his chest.

Fine.

If Charles wants to erase him, to pretend he was just a mistake, Max will make him remember. Not with words. Not with apologies or late-night texts, stupid fucking phone calls or dangerous public driving.

Tomorrow, on track - where it’s just the two of them, where he can't pretend or avoid him endlessly. Charles will feel exactly what happens when you try to push Max Verstappen away. If he wants to pretend Max was just a distraction, Max will remind him that distractions don’t just disappear into thin air.

"It's great to be on pole, but points are tomorrow. But of course, the idea of a first win is something you can't not get exited about," he hears the last part of yet another one of Charles' speeches and this time he smiles. Time to prove everyone wrong. Make the damn strategists happy for once again.

//

It's hell. Pure, unfiltered hell. Charles arrives in Maranello in a state of a complete breakdown. He was running on some sort of manic fuel the whole Monaco drive. All was somehow bearable - until Max stopped chasing behind him. The absence of his headlights in rear-view mirror worked like a bomb detonator. He is a crying, miserable mess the whole drive. One time he has to stop over, because his breath gets stuck in the lungs and it sets his head into a dizzy spin. He collapses onto his bed in the small Maranello safe house and spends the night fighting terrifying nightmares.

After losing the next day by being glued to his phone, waiting for Max to call for one more time, he decides he can't take that anymore. He missed his chances. Ran away, fucked up everything and tired Max out. He knows him - if he stopped calling, he stopped caring. Charles can't bare himself to get to be the one to make the desperate move, especially after he let so blatantly known that he's totally under Max's spell. He cried in front of him. Nearly begged - but who knows, the whole conversation is becoming a blur, like an old tape wearing thin from being rewound too many times, the sound glitching, words distorting until they barely make sense anymore. So, the first evening after the fight, he blocks Max's phone number. This way, he can still hope that he is trying to reach him and he does not have to stare the unbearable truth in the face. That Max does not, in fact, call anymore.

He completely drowns himself in work. His trainer has to remind him to eat, even though the thought of food makes him sick. He's floating around, allows the team to handle him about and keeps his focus on racing exclusively. Because, that is the only means of communication with Max he's got left. On track, nothing changed. They still cruise around each other, expertly read each other's moves and for once, it all works out in Charles' favor.

The irony of him finally getting a grip on racing when he feels like he'd rather jump under the car instead is not lost on him.

The first step into the paddock after their fight feels heavier than it should. No matter how much he tries to shake it, there’s still a glimmer of hope that he and Max can fix this. But hope, in all its twisted absurdity, only makes him avoid Max more. Because, if this is suppose to be the end, he wants prolong this uncertain period as much as he can. His own misery is becoming the only thing he has left from Max and if that is the truth, he will cling on it. It's him and Max. Any reminder of that is better than nothing.

Red Bull ring. Half of the grandstand is covered in eye-searing orange, the other in signature deep blue that keeps haunting him. They are all waiting for him to fail. He can't. If he has to suffer, because of his feeling towards the Dutch driver, so should everyone else. No matter how mellowed down their devotion to Max might be compared to his own.

It's scorching hot. As is should be in hell anyway. Charles is sitting in his car, front row providing a clear view to the task ahead. Beat Max on track. It's like he can't see any other of the remaining eighteen cars. Lights out and away we go. The all familiar noise of roaring engines makes his ears hurt. His reaction is perfect, almost divine. He launches forward, sliding through the first turn like a man possessed, and when he glances at his mirrors, Max is gone. Buried in the chaos behind him, swallowed by his own mistakes. A chuckle bubbles up in Charles’ throat, raw and breathless, nearly manic again. This is what he wants. Him being able to prove that he is sharper, better and faster when giving as similar chance as Max. Not only that. To himself, and in extension Max too, he needs to prove that he can exist without Max fucking Verstappen.

He flies away, leaving the rest of pack behind. It's only in lap two where he figures out that Max fell five places down. There is a momentary wave of sorrow, one intrusive idea about Charles wanting to be the only to beat him, regretting that other drivers are doing so too. But they're both on their own. Max would never share this sentiment towards him. Whatever Charles is doing must be working, because it looks like he got into Verstappen's head. He's slowly extending the lead, keeping Bottas in a safe distance, far enough no DRS.

Ten and few more laps later, he notices Max working way up the field quite effectively. He keeps calm, because with every car Max passes, Charles makes up a second on Bottas.

Max's got the fastest lap now. Charles is managing tires, bracing for the future. Pit stop - the one thing he truly fears - gone right. He's in a completely calm and periodic rhythm, none of the cars providing a real challenge. He prays to the gods of racing for no mechanical failure this time. Destiny owes his at least that. Give him the right tools, he won't ask for help when all it lies on is his own abilities. He's making his way through the traffic, lapping cars and occasionally looking behind his back at Verstappen fighting Bottas. And after few more laps of this routine - Max is the first car on his tail. Charles expected nothing less. He digs into everything he has - not only in him, but in the car as well. The whole race was just a prep for this moment. Barely four seconds. Max is faster, a fact his dearest fucking engineer feels the need to point out, as if he couldn’t see it himself. But quick math tells Charles he should survive this. 3,8. 3,6. For Charles, there really is no other car on the track than Max's. The others are just annoying little gravel stones, hitting his visor and robbing Charles of clean air. A half of a second is lost only by having to cruise between them. He tries his best to stay cool. One final wish goes towards his tires.

He gives it all. Five final laps and the gap is dangerously close to one second. He spends what feels like two years stuck between Pierre, who's suppose to let him through and Max who is closing in on him. Two Red Bulls. Please, Pierre. This is the first time Charles regrets not telling his friend about the love affair. He knows Pierre is instructed to make it as hard as possible for Charles to get through while keeping it all legal.

"Verstappen behind, one second."

"Leave me alone."

And then - it's on.

It's like he can feel Max breathing down his neck. The DRS is inevitable. Max is inevitable. Charles defends for his life. He forces him to have to go around the outside, off the racing line. Turn 4 is the Achilles heel and Charles survives the first time they pass it through.

But he knows Max. Understands the way he moves, instinct in perfect symphony with logic, calculating every weakness...No stone left untouched. Why should Charles be the exception. He remembers the way he looked at Charles the first time they kissed - half a dare, half a warning. It's the way he uses his touch - firm, yet gentle - to bend Charles into whatever shape he wants. 

On the next lap, Charles watches his mirrors, waits for the lunge. This time Max doesn’t go for the outside. No, this time, he comes from inside, slicing through the turn with an aggression Charles thought he was ready for. It’s all so quick, just like their fallout. 

The wheels are millimeters apart. Charles tries to force him wide, but Max refuses to back off. Of course he does. Max has never learned when to let go. Never knows when to stop taking.

And then, it comes again.

Max is right there, alongside him, closer this time, pushing, forcing. Charles grips the wheel tighter, body locked in, blood roaring in his ears. He doesn’t lift. He doesn’t yield. Max doesn’t either.

A nudge. A shove. Space shrinking into nothing. Everything slows.

He’s back at the Monaco apartment, late at night, Max’s voice low against his neck. “If I have to take a win from you, will you ever kiss me again?” Charles had laughed, breathless. “You already take everything from me.”

Charles barely registers the moment his tires leave the track, but he feels it. The smudge of gravel beneath him, the split-second loss of control, the sheer force of what Max has done.

Max’s fingers curled around his wrist in a hotel hallway, yanking him back to the room before they could be seen, grinning like it was a game. "You can’t get enough of me," Charles had scoffed. "Give me all you have, Charlie," Max hummed in between kisses.

The back of Max’s neck in the early morning, hair still damp from post sex shower, heartbeat steady under Charles’ hand. "Would you ever crash into me?" Max had asked once, drowsy, barely awake. Charles had said no. Max had never answered.

The car snaps back into control just before he spins. Charles feels it all in his arms, his whole body resisting the centrifugal pull. No. It takes him half a second to realize what just happened. The next half is spent knowing, with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t fucking legal. Max robbed him. They have to make him give the place back.  Charles grips the wheel so hard it might break, breath coming short and sharp. His visor feels suffocating, the heat pressing in from all sides. He should have known. Should have known Max would take everything.

He genuinely can't remember the rest of the race.

Just like that, it's over, he's getting out of the car and his own disbelief is preventing from believing any of this is real. His mind stayed back somewhere around Turn 4 and he's having something he thinks others describe as out of body experience. He understands there are words coming out of his mouth, but no one is in control of them. They roll of automatically and he's only aware that most of them are about the stewards having to have a look at the move.

He is painfully aware of the cameras in the cooldown room. That is the only thing grounding him and not flying into a shout festival with Max. The words he has reserved for this man are intended for him and his ears only. Survival mode kicks in and he tries to ignore him as much as he can.

He'd prefer getting punched instead of having to stand on this podium. Any attempt from people trying to congratulate is met with a face one does not forget. Max's smile is impossible to ignore, bright and shamelessly arrogant, the kind of grin that demands to be seen. Mercilessly cuts through like a knife.

Charles sees the way Max points at the Honda logo on his race suit, exaggerating the motion, playing up the moment. A distant memory flickers in. Charles remembers when Max came home one day, irritated after yet another Red Bull PR lecture about mentioning Honda at every possible opportunity. Max had rolled his eyes, complaining about contractual obligations, flapped himself on the couch and refused to talk. So, Charles came up with a game, with hopes of turning the mood around. Say it so much they beg you to stop. He still remembers Max’s mischievous smirk, the way they looked at each other every time he did that. Now? It feels like Max deliberately twisting the knife he shoved into Charles' guts. As if Charles isn't standing right there, watching it all, bleeding out behind a forced expression. Max took it all. No one would be mad or surprised if he hadn't won today. It means he did all of this on purpose. Inflict as much as he possibly can. Something he appears to be very good at.

Someone puts the dreaded Dutch anthem on and every note drags on and on.  Charles stares to the deep hills, avoiding the crowd below. His nails pressing so hard his racing suit he’s surprised there isn’t blood between his fingers. This is the sound he will die to. The tune that will crawl inside his skull, rot there, and play on an endless loop. If there’s a god waiting for him at the end of it all, this is what they'll hum as the gates get shut in his face.

Max is right there, right fucking there, barely an arm’s length away, standing taller, chest out, sweat still clinging to his skin like it’s something to be proud of. Charles doesn’t dare look at him. Doesn’t trust himself not to flinch, not to break. The heat between them is unbearable, suffocating, a reminder that not long ago, Max had pressed against him in a different way. The hand he now had to avoid from accidentally brushing against is the same one that used to grip Charles like he was something for Max to own.

He knows Max doesn’t even think about that. Not now. Not while he stands here, grinning like he was made for this moment, swimming in the praise from crowd that loves him, while Charles stands frozen beside him, barely holding himself together.

The anthem swells, the final few notes longing out like they’re mocking him, and Charles forces himself to swallow, forces the bile back down his throat. He knows it's over. Deep down inside, he stopped hoping for stewards standing by him.  Another mistake and he looks down the crowd. Roars of people suffocating him, stealing the air directly from his lungs and among all of those, one face stands out. Everyone is looking at Max, apart from this person, who's unmistakable smirk reminds him so scarily of the smirk he used to love. Jos Vestappen is unashamedly staring down at him, even though he's several meters below him. For the first time, he sees the resemblance between Max and his father.

He calls himself stupid about fifty times. The door for Max would not have opened if he hadn’t allowed it. He got burned once. It can’t happen again. Things have to change. He has to change.  The champagne tastes like a spoilt milk, Charles does everything in his power to get out of the podium stand as quickly as possible. He will go on to the stewards with his team, even though he knows the battle is lost. If there is one thing he is grateful for, it's the crying Honda spokesman, that wiggles in between him and Max for the final photo. Charles is spared of the final blow - feeling Max's cruel hands on his back again.

//

The come down of emotions is quick. He did it. Snatched Charles' first victory right from his hands. Celebrated so loudly, encircled Charles so efficiently he was sure he must be getting claustrophobic. Killer instinct called upon him and he gave in completely. Charles can't rely on ignoring him. He won't go away without a fight, without destroying him. Max is hardly a sappy dreamer, but all of today feels like it was written long time ago and he was just following the script. Charles is sitting by his right side during the press conference - exactly where he belongs. There is an evil joy Max feels from having him so close during his first win of this season. Charles has no choice but to endure every second of it. Weeks of silence, of trying to erase Max from his life, and yet, here they are. No matter how hard he tries, he can't escape him.

The questions roll in. "How does this win compare to the ones he's had before?" Oh, he has many words he can't say out loud. The reported receives some basic technical summary, but what he really wants to say - scream, shout to the world - is that this win feels sweeter than any candy, he's reclaiming his strenght back and Charles can try as much as he can, but Max proved today that he won't back down.

"When did you start to think the win was possible today?" Easy. Once the door shut behind Charles when he ran away. When his smug smile started to haunt Max in every waking moment. When he heard the words, his former lover, calling him a mere distraction.

Next question is aimed at Charles. General, basic, nothing out of the order. He steals one glance. A thunder of a feeling he can't name properly shoots through him. His bloodshot eyes, purple lips and hands with practically no nails left on them scream the truth louder than anything else. It's the moment Charles finally speaks, his words rolling out of his tongue when Max's heart stops. It is probably unrecognizable for the crowd of journalist in front of them, but he knows this tone. It's the utterly broken one. His words make sense, it's composed and measured, but the accent creeps in and gives away all. Just like it did whenever Charles felt unsure about their love affair. His voice is soft, too soft for a post-race fatigue. Max has to put his head down, to hide behind his cap for a moment. He hears Charles gulp and surprisingly it's that what breaks Max. Numbness descends over him. Next question is aimed at Valtteri and for once, he's glad.

Max sinks in. He tries to stop the guilt from drowning him. For once, this is a battle he can't win. The darkest worry Max always had about himself is that he it too ruthless. Can't see the line until he's way past by. Cruel, calculating monster, that will destroy anything or anyone standing in his way. Suddenly, he find himself regretting it all. His move was over the top, but he can't admit that now. This wasn't racing anymore, this personal vendetta, childish anger spree, because Max can't have what he truly wants. Maybe it's sadly better this way. By forcing Charles to hating him, he will make sure he stays far away from him. Max knows he'd crumble apart, had Charles given him any inclination that he wants him back. That man could probably ask for anything and he'd give it to him. Max is not strong enough to resist Charles. He's also just proven how much of a selfish dick he can be when things don't go this way. The reality of him coming to the conclusion, that Charles hating him instead of loving him might be safer and better option for the Ferrari driver is a hard pill to swallow. Max had spent years perfecting the art of fighting for every inch, of clawing his way to the top no matter the cost. And now, sitting here, drowning in his own victory, he wonders if the cost this time was too high. Max knows his actions today bought him all the time in the world to wallow around this idea. Because, it's obvious Charles can't stand him anymore. He finally sees Max for what he is. His father's son.

Another question, particularly snarky one comes at him and Charles together and something inside Max takes over. He's saying words, explaining the nature of his specific overtake and it takes him everything he has to prevent his voice from shaking. He ends up defending himself again, but the doubts flood his consciousness. Charles finally throws in a sarcastic comment, calling the move illegal, and something ugly inside Max likes it. If Charles has to hate him, let it be like this - spiteful, angry, not distant and indifferent. At least anger means he still cares, even if it’s in the worst way possible.

He will forever admire Charles for being able to sit through this, so strong and still.

We never gave up, he hears himself saying. His only hope is that Charles won't give up too.

"Charles, do you feel like this one has been stolen from you?" Yes. Obviously. Once again, Max questions the sanity of everyone in the room. Another punchy note about the legality of the overtake and Max revels in it.

"Will you stop being the polite driver you are?" Is this the first time people watched Charles racing? A polite driver? The menace that would rather have them crash into the barrier than get overtaken? The driver Max had to pull out his dirtiest trick only to get a chance on getting in front of him?

"On track I'm a bit of a different person than in the car." Max has never disagreed with something more in his life.

------- @chezmardybum @biancathecool

[fandom-rants-here]

I need Mike to confess first. And I need Will to not believe him.

something something...

"Will, I promise you I am not lying. This isn't- this isn't any prank or trick or mischief or whatever you think is going on here. I am telling you that I am in love with you. I always have been."

There are audible tremors in Mike's voice and he thinks he feels tears falling down his face.

"Whatever I had with El was not love. It was coincidence and my own cowardice that brought and held us together. It was dumb luck I met her. But you know who I was looking for that day? It was you, Will. It's always been you. I chose to walk up to you on that playground 10 years ago. I chose to ask you to be my friend. I chose you. "

Even if Mike had the confidence to look towards Will, his eyes were blurred with tears and he couldn't even see the ground they were falling on.

"I'm sorry for what I said at the pizza shop. It was- I was lying. I was just saying what I thought she needed to hear again and I really don't know why cause it never works and you were right there and it fucking hurt to lie so much and you didn't deserve that, you- Will, my life didn't start the day I met El in the woods, not in the way I implied, at least. You were missing, most thought you were dead or would be soon. We were all so hurt and lost without you. Joyce seemed half hysterical, Jonathan- I'd never seen him so sad, and we, The Party, we didn't know what to do without you. I felt like death, like I'd died without you to keep me alive. But then we found El and she- if she could be lost in the woods and found, so could you. And then- then she recognized your photo and she knew who you were and she flipped the board to show you were in the Upside Down and- and meeting El wasn't my life starting. It was hope restarting it, hope that she could get you back to us."

They stood and he wasn't sure if Will was nearly as frozen as he was, but it took him several moments to regain any thoughts and then continue speaking.

"Will, I've known I was in love with you for years, now. But the love has been there far longer. You- you're amazing, Will. You're so smart, even if you suck at math. You capture beauty in ever drawing and painting you make, creating it from sheer care and adoration alone, when you have to. You consider other's thoughts and feelings before you do or say anything, no matter how angry you are. You're such a quick thinker, it's scary sometimes. Not- not really, but you get the idea. You're the most level headed person inside of a group where everyone else is about 10 seconds away from murdering each other. You're patient, gentle, honest, hilarious, and you're also, like, super handsome. I couldn't live without you, without my cleric. I almost didn't. You've saved me more times than you know. Because, Will, you are so strong and so resilient. You've survived and endured more than anyone ever should be forced to yet you remain kind. You called me the heart, in the van. And don't even try to say that's all El, you and I both know that she doesn't think that and that you're a terrible liar. But, really, Will? Me, the heart? Will, that has always been you. You bring together and unite people. You bring out the best in people, even when they're cruel or being assholes or telling you things that aren't meant for you but for themselves. You have always been the heart of this party. You've always been my heart."

The weight of their matching watches is heavy on Mike's wrist, the syncronized ticks breaking the stark silence every second. And, as he finally lifted his head up, Mike once again saw that Will had already been staring.

For once, Mike doesn't look away. Rather, he takes a few hesitant steps closer.

"I love you, Will Byers. You are my best friend, my first friend, my childhood crush, my gay realization, my tether to reality, my cleric, and you have been the most important person in my life since you entered it. Maybe even before. Maybe I had carved out a space knowing one day you'd fill it."

[filthyrodentt]

Asking the Papas to Take Your Virginity

• Headcanons below the cut •

Primo

He’s a little surprised you would come to him rather than one of his younger brothers, but flattered nonetheless and also very willing

At a point in his life, requests like this were very normal, but, in his age, it’s definitely been awhile

You come to his room early and he spends a while making sure you are comfortable before proceeding. Including having a glass of wine together , talking about things unrelated, and allowing him to hold you to grow used to the feeling of being touched

Definitely a slow, but enjoyable night. He talks you through absolutely everything and never makes a single move without verbal permission

It may have been awhile, but he’s still got it.

Secondo

Just as experienced as his elder in this territory.

He’s not very surprised at being approached about this, as he has somewhat of a reputation. He agrees with very little convincing

Spends a lot of time talking things over beforehand, both from a personal perspective but also religious. He recites a satanic prayer as he undresses you

As they all are, he’s good at keeping you comfortable. It starts with a lot of touching before moving forward. He’s got good hands for caressing, and is very gentle with them

He keeps things at your pace all night, pausing every so often to check in. One of Secondo’s favorite spots on his partner is their neck, so a lot of attention in that area

Willing to go a second round should you request

Terzo

Very happy that you’ve come to him. There is nothing Terzo loves more than being there for his congregants- nothing he loves more than pleasing people

He takes you out to dinner first, eager to ease into it. Keeps a close eye on how you’re doing all night

A romantic at heart, he gets things started with kissing. Nothing too intense, just soft, simple kisses that start at your lips and quickly travel.. just about everywhere else

He’s largely into body worship and praise and spends a lot of time telling you how beautiful you are , and how well you’re doing

Despite how into it he gets, he manages to keep things at a moderate pace and not go overboard or overwhelm you

Asks at the end if there’s anything else you want to do or try

Copia

Shocked (visibly) when you ask - even though he quickly realizes he shouldn’t be. He’s Papa now - what did he expect?

Initially hesitant , but ultimately agrees. He’s not half as used to this as the others

When you come over, he is nervous but not incompetent. It’s clear he wants to make your first time a good time and is anxious to do so

Talks to you about the way you want to do things as opposed to immediately taking charge. His actions and movements are a little shy and awkward at first, but once you’re truly started he becomes a lot more confident

He does his job but barely manages to last as long as you. Poor Copia, he can’t help it

Ends with kissing and falling asleep in each other’s arms

[thenickgirl]

Has Nick ever gotten uncomfortable with having his shirt off while having sex with Jalen? Or has Jalen ever moved to take Nick's shirt off during a make out and Nick stops him or something?

well, yes. this was in the early stages of their relationship, of course. naturally, as a lot of people would, nick was nervous or self conscious about jalen seeing his naked body.

ACTUALLY, this very instance is in a fic i was working on. i’ll add a little excerpt for funsies, since it’ll be a while before it gets posted 😌

*for a little context, nick and jalen haven’t had sex (with each other) before, and they are currently making out. Jalen is sitting on the edge of his bed, with Nick straddling his lap*

Jalen’s large hands roamed his petite frame. He slipped one under Nick's shirt, his fingers danced along the brunette’s milky skin as he moaned into his mouth. Jalen loved the way his skin felt on his fingertips, his hand roamed higher, making its way to Nick’s chest and his thumb circles his perked nipples. Nick gasps as he breaks the kiss, his head thrown back as he moans while Jalen plays with his sensitive bud.

“Jalen…” Nick whimpered breathlessly, “I-…Please,” he whined as his hip rocked forward.

Without hesitating, Jalen removed his hand from Nick’s body. He grabbed the hem of Nick’s shirt about to lift it up when Nick's breath hitched. “N-No,” he stuttered, quickly pushing Jalen’s hands away and tugging his shirt back down. His face red with embarrassment as he looked everywhere but at Jalen.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-,” he pauses, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Jalen assures, his hands rubbing Nick's sides in a comforting way.

“No, no I do! I want to! You don’t even know how badly I want to. I just-“ he paused, hiding his face in hands as he tried to gather the words, but Jalen already knew.

“Baby, look at me,” he says, pulling Nick’s hands away from his face. “It’s okay, and I get it. You don’t have to take it off now, or ever. It’s not just about me, it’s about you too, it’s about us exploring this love together. We can both keep them on. We can even turn the lights off, fuck it, we can get under these hot ass covers if you want to, I don’t care. Whatever is going to make you feel safe and comfortable, but baby, please know that I love you, and your body. I think you’re beautiful in a tee shirt, in a hoodie, or in your bare skin, and I'd be more than honored whenever you’re ready.” he says sincerely, giving Nick's sides a reassuring squeeze.

Nick was beyond flustered, his eyes wet with tears that he managed to keep from falling. His heart was galloping at Jalen’s words, no one had been this loving and patient with him before. The truth is, he was comfortable with Jalen, and he knew that he could trust him, it’s just his past experiences that led him to hide. With a deep breath, and shaky hands, Nick grabbed the hem of his shirt, this time, pulling it up and off of his body, tossing it across the room.

Jalen’s own heart raced in his chest, as he saw his lover's bare skin for the first time. He was careful not to stare too much, as to not make Nick feel even more self conscious. He pressed his lips right above his tummy, going up his sternum. He trailed kisses all over Nick’s chest, as he hummed contentedly, loving the way Jalen’s soft lips felt against his skin. With each kiss Nick felt every ounce of love, and adoration Jalen had for him, and his body.

Jalen pulls back after a minute, his loving brown eyes locking with Nick’s. “Be real with me,” he pauses. “You fell from heaven, didn’t you?” he says smiling.

Nick beams while blushing, “Oh my god, shut upp,” he says giggling like a schoolgirl at his boyfriend’s cheesiness.

[peanutpinet]

Im really loving your sylus x innocent mc stories!! I was wondering what if Innocent Mc is sick or gotten hurt while Sylus is in the middle of a business deal, and when he finds out, he immediately leaves to go take care of mc. 🥺💖

Healer - Sylus x Sick Innocent Fem Reader

A/N: hi anon, thank you for being patient!! I have a lil something for you and for everyone especially with the 3.0 update! I won't spill anything so I hope you all enjoy reading this little fic and thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credit goes to the image's respective owners.

Warnings: threatening, blood

If Sylus could just kill everyone in the room and be done for the day, he would. But unfortunately, there was nothing that was reasonable enough to do so.

Luke and Kieran told him about “highly” businessman that wanted to make a deal regarding the protocores Sylus had. Saying that he’s willing to invest in the business that Sylus had going around if he were to be given a fraction of Sylus’ protocore collection. Of course, Sylus knew what this man specifically wanted. As much as he wants this to end quickly to get to you, Sylus loves to make his victims pretend that they got the upper hand before he turn the tables.

But the more this meeting drags on, Sylus realised something. You didn’t text him at all today. You just told him that you had to go into town for some errands but that was at 8am while it was already 5pm and there had been none information regarding you for the past 9 hours which is unheard of throughout your relationship with Sylus since the beginning.

Though Sylus already sent the twins and mephisto to look for you, he was still restless. Sylus tries to think of all other more “reasonable” scenarios. Maybe you forgot to bring your charger and your phone died in the middle of the die. Maybe you were at a friend’s place and you left your phone on do not disturb or perhaps…

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a bad feeling when he heard the twins chatter loudly when he was at the end of the hall in the meeting room.

Without thinking, Sylus bolted out of the meeting room, immediately telling the business partner he’ll rearrange another meeting. When his business partner was threatening him, Sylus didn’t hesitate to point his gun at them. “Accept my offer to reschedule while I’m being sane unless you want me to expose all of your dirty little secrets to the world? I’m sure with how the taxes to everything increasing, it’s going to be hard to get the materials you need without my help”

Luckily, his business partner held both his hands up in defeat, making Sylus smirked. “Wise decision”. Sylus signalled his other men to handle his business partner and his men while he went to see what happened to you.

Sylus knew that no matter what, Luke and Kieran would always bring you back to your shared bedroom. It was practically a sacred place for the both of you. A safe haven, a place where the two of you can be yourself, took care one another, and spend time to be with each other.

Sylus felt the walk down the hall back to his shared bedroom felt further than usual. Halfway through the hallways, Mephisto perched itself on Sylus’ shoulder, cawing at its owner as if it was trying to give Sylus a heads up.

However, before Mephisto could show Sylus anything, the door to his shared room with you was opened and it revealed Luke and Kieran who looked worried despite the masks they wore. “Boss…” the twins let out a soft sigh of relief seeing Sylus came “Care to fill me in on what happened?” Sylus questioned his two most trusted men, knowing that these twins care for you just as much as he did (Sylus definitely still cared for you the most)

“There was blood, boss” Kieran started and it already send chills throughout Sylus’ body. “Yeah. We didn’t know how it happened. When you told us to find the miss, we didn’t expect there’d be blood” Luke added on

“She also started moving in a dizzy way” Kieran pointed out “She almost fainted when we brought her back. We don’t know how to help stop the bleeding” Luke added on more and by now Sylus couldn’t take it and barged into the room, leaving the twins in the hallway

“Sweetie?!” Sylus called out to you and hearing your groan, he immediately went to the bed, seeing you bundled under layers of bed covers and blanket “It hurts sy…” you whimpered and Sylus didn’t waste time to get into bed and pulled you to him. “Tell me what happened, where does it hurt? How much blood did you lose?”

Sylus gently stroke your head, kissing your forehead and allowing you to snuggled closer to his large body. “J-just, just like every other month”

It was then Sylus realised what actually happened and immediately checked his phone. Noticing the reminder, Sylus let out an annoyed sigh “Those twins…they almost made me pull my heart out”

“Sy…” you mumbled and Sylus snapped back at your weaken self

“I know sweetie. I know. You lay back down yeah? I’ll have the chef immediately cook you some warm soup and I’ll bring painkillers” Sylus gently laid you back, pulling up the layers of blanket to keep you warm, kissing your forehead again

“Are you angry?” you managed to asked despite your weak state

“You had me worried a bit but I can never be angry at you, sweetie. What happened to your phone though?” Sylus asked

“I forgot to charge it last night and was only 15% left when I went out. M’sorry” you mumbled, trying to sleep while Sylus shook his head, caressing your cheek

“I understand sweetie. You were out of it since last night. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’ll help make sure that your phone is always charged but for now, you try to rest a bit more while I get you some warm soup and painkillers along with your favorite sweets then I’ll cuddle you until you’re better”

Sylus placed one last gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving the room to get the things he said he would get.

“So?! Did you manage to stop the bleeding boss?” Luke asked

“If he looked calmer now, everything must be okay with the miss, right?” Kieran asked as well

Sylus stopped in his tracks before giving the twins a side glare. “You two, my office now. Once I’m back, I’ll make sure the two of you are educated and understand the human anatomy of a woman and her struggles of bleeding every single month”

The twins had never seen their boss looked so serious and menacing towards them which meant they had made a grave mistake. “W-what do you mean boss?” the twins asked as Sylus turned around, his aether core was practically glowing a crimson red colour. “She was on her damn period yet the two of you made it sound like she was bleeding to death! I swear if any of you give me this kind of heart attack again, I’ll have to start cutting your allowances”

The twins rushed to Sylus’ office in fear and started to look up about period, educating themselves everything about it while Sylus took care of you. It’s safe to say that by the next crack of dawn, the twins would understand more about periods and how they could help you if it happened again when Sylus wasn’t around.

A/N: yup, was about periods LMAO

[welcome-to-green-hills]

What do you think a conversation with Tom and Maddie would be like with Shadow of the Fluffer Puppers bring him home?

Hey Darlin’!❤️✨

For me, I do not see Shadow joining the Wachowski family. I see him as a good ally that appears to their house on occasion whenever he needs assistance or a place to stop on his travels.

That being said, I strongly feel that Shadow would struggle with the idea of reaching out first. This was a family that faced so much the last time they’ve encountered each other. I feel that he’d be hesitant to reach out if he needed help. Sure, Sonic forgave him and had his heart-to-heart with him on the moon, but he didn’t have one with the rest of the family. I do think that it’s Sonic that would drag him in. I can see Sonic being the one to encourage (as well as drag him up to the front door) to come and talk to everyone.

Shadow would struggle a bit trying to talk to Tom and Maddie, especially to Tom. His need for revenge and anger got in the way and almost caused a life to be lost. I feel that there might be a sense of fear trying to talk to them both. Shadow isn’t expecting an apology or anything. He just wants them to know that he’s sorry.

I think that Tom and Maddie would feel cautious at first. (Shadow doesn’t blame them). They’d show Shadow compassion and respect for trying to reach out. Tom would be the first to point that out. He’d let Shadow know that he’s proud of him for reaching out and for moving in the right direction. Maddie would be proud of him as well, but in the context of being open and wanting to have something better in his life.

More importantly, Tom and Maddie would want to make sure that Shadow is okay. Yes, it’s hard to be open with people, but you can’t force it upon someone. Being open with others takes time and bravery. They would provide a space to let Shadow know that it’s okay to be there whenever he needs it.

[gottencents]

Resentment - Winter

pairing. idol!winter x girlfriend!reader

synopsis. Y/N’s world is turned upside down when Winter suddenly ends their relationship without a word of explanation

The rain poured mercilessly outside, casting long, distorted shadows against the apartment walls. The soft hum of the city beyond the window was drowned out by the steady drumming of raindrops against the glass. Y/n stood near the door, arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching as Winter sat on the couch, her head bowed, fingers restlessly twisting the hem of her sweater.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“You’re really going to do this?” Y/n finally broke the silence, her voice quieter than she intended but thick with emotion.

Winter’s fingers froze for a brief moment before she nodded, her eyes still locked on the floor. “Yeah.”

A bitter laugh escaped Y/n’s lips, though there was no humor in it. “Just like that?”

Winter let out a slow exhale, tilting her head back against the couch. “It’s not ‘just like that,’ Y/n.” Her voice was heavy, tired. “You think this is easy for me?”

Y/n took a step closer, her nails digging into her palms. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” She searched Winter’s face, trying to find something—anything—that told her this wasn’t real. That this was just another one of their stupid fights that they’d fix by morning. But Winter wasn’t looking at her, and that hurt more than anything.

“You could’ve talked to me,” Y/n said, voice trembling. “Instead, you decided all on your own that this—whatever we are—wasn’t worth it.”

Winter’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Y/n demanded, stepping in front of her. “Because all I see is you walking away before we even have a chance to fix things.”

Winter finally looked up, her dark eyes stormy with emotion. “Fix what, Y/n?” Her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly looked away. “We keep hurting each other. Over and over again. And I—” She swallowed hard. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Y/n felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath her. “You’re giving up on us.”

Winter stood up, shaking her head. “I’m trying to stop us from completely destroying each other.”

A painful silence stretched between them, only interrupted by the sound of the rain. Y/n’s chest rose and fell unevenly, trying to breathe past the lump in her throat.

“We’re not destroying each other,” she said, softer now. “We’re just scared.”

Winter clenched her jaw. “Maybe you’re willing to fight for something that might already be broken.” Her voice wavered, betraying the tears she was holding back. “But I don’t have the strength to keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

Y/n reached for her hand instinctively, fingers curling around Winter’s wrist. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “You love me, but you’re leaving anyway?”

Winter’s shoulders tensed, her body going rigid under Y/n’s touch. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t hold on either.

“That’s the worst part,” Winter whispered, her voice barely audible. “That I love you so much… but love isn’t always enough.”

Y/n’s grip tightened, as if holding onto her just a little longer would change everything. “But it could be.”

Winter shook her head, closing her eyes. “No, it couldn’t.”

The finality in her voice shattered something inside Y/n.

A tear slipped down Winter’s cheek, and she finally pulled away, leaving Y/n’s fingers cold and empty. She took a slow step back, as if putting distance between them would make this hurt less.

“I wanted this to work, Y/n.” She let out a shaky breath. “But I’m tired of feeling like we’re fighting a war with no end.”

Y/n bit down on her lip, blinking back tears. “If you walk away now, there’s no coming back from this.”

Winter hesitated, her fingers curling at her sides. She looked at Y/n one last time, her gaze filled with unspoken words—apologies, love, regret. Then she took a step back.

And another.

Then she turned away.

Y/n stood frozen as Winter grabbed her coat and walked toward the door. Her hand trembled on the doorknob, and for a split second, Y/n thought—hoped—that she might turn back.

But she didn’t.

She walked out, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving nothing but an unbearable silence in her wake.

And Y/n was left standing there, heartbroken, wondering if love had ever really been enough.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t lessened. It just kept pouring, drowning the city in an endless storm. It reminded Y/n of the ache sitting heavy in her chest, refusing to let up, refusing to be ignored.

She stood there in the middle of the apartment, staring at the closed door like Winter might suddenly change her mind and walk back through it. But the hallway outside remained silent. Empty.

Winter was gone.

Y/n exhaled shakily, forcing herself to move, but every step felt heavier than the last. Her fingers hovered over her phone, debating whether to call. Would Winter even answer? Would it change anything if she did?

She pressed her lips together and sat down on the couch instead—the same couch where Winter had been just moments ago. The warmth of her presence still lingered in the cushions, taunting her.

How had they gotten here?

They had always been complicated, always pushing and pulling. But through everything—the fights, the stubborn silences, the moments where they felt like they might break—they had never let go. Not like this.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the first time Winter had ever told her I love you.

It had been late at night, just like this. The city lights had flickered through the curtains, painting Winter’s face in soft shadows as she hesitated—so unlike her usual confident self.

“Say something,” Winter had murmured after confessing, her fingers playing with the hem of Y/n’s sleeve.

Y/n had smiled then, pressing their foreheads together. “You already knew how I felt.”

“But I wanted to hear it.”

“I love you, Winter.”

Winter had kissed her that night, slow and deep, like she never wanted to let go.

But now, she had.

Y/n let out a shaky breath and reached for her phone before she could second-guess herself. Her thumb hovered over Winter’s contact. Then, before she could stop herself, she hit call.

The line rang once. Twice.

And then it went to voicemail.

Y/n stared at the screen, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She should’ve expected it. She should’ve known.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She gripped the phone tighter, debating whether to leave a message. What could she even say?

That she missed her? That she loved her? That she wasn’t ready to let go?

Before she could decide, the phone buzzed in her hand. A message from Winter.

Winter: Don’t wait for me, Y/n.

Y/n’s breath hitched. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she didn’t know how to respond.

How was she supposed to just… stop waiting?

Instead of replying, she set the phone down beside her and curled into herself, listening to the rain continue to fall.

Winter might have walked away.

But Y/n wasn’t sure if she could.