#who does not have enough time in my life to have tried that :p

[fakesurprise]

a moment of horror....

... imagining a universe where @randomlyjay was NOT a sideblog but a whole entire account....

[ghostfacd]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

PART TWO

summary: you were the epitome of sunshine, and coriolanus? he was like the storm, the rain, and the everything in between.

warnings: SPOILERS from the movie & book, SMUT (protected cause we wrap it before we tap it! p in v), losing virginities to each other, snow (cause he himself needs a warning), toxic relationship, coriolanus is only in it for himself, mentions of losing virginity, you practically giving everything to snow and getting zero in return

author’s note: erm this is kinda long idek where tf i was going with this, first time writing smut on this account LOL so it might be bad. also this isn’t proofread so there might be mistakes, just ignore! as always, reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, enjoy reading + kisses 💓

You were the epitome of the sun itself, the sparkle, the light, and most importantly, the brightness. Despite being filthy rich, you were still that sweet sunshine Y/N everyone grown to love, the heir to the Cicero family.

Coriolanus Snow hated that about you. Not only were you everything he was not, but you lived such a lavish and easy lifestyle that it made him sick. Why was he stuck eating cabbage while you were off eating the finest thin slices of meat in the Capitol made by your chefs? It wasn’t fair, it just simply wasn’t.

“Well, Coryo!” Your sickeningly sweet voice fills his ears like a mantra.

He turns around, a smirk plays on his face. “My Y/N.”

Hearing him call you his made your heart flutter. You loop your arm through his, passing through the other academy students who were engrossed in their conversations

“Finally the star pupil.” Arachne Crane says, a glass of posca in her hand. “Lovely shirt you’ve got there. What are these cunning buttons? Tesserae?”

He looked at the shirt, shrugging. “Hm? Are they? Must’ve why they reminded me of the maid’s bathroom.”

You held his hands in yours. You knew of Coriolanus’s home life, how he wasn’t so lucky like you to have a gigantic home filled with lovable parents. His mom had died during childbirth, Coryo mentioning to you once how he was supposed to have a little sister. His father—died in the hands of rebels.

“Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous.” Felix suddenly spoke up, taking a bite of the food that was currently on his plate.

“Didn’t daddy teach you table manners?.” Festus sneered, watching the other boy in disgust.

“Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country.” Felix snapped back

Coriolanus took a deep breath in, already feeling overwhelmed by his classmates arguing.

After the announcement of the assigning of mentor to tributes, you could tell Coriolanus was upset. Although he wouldn’t let anyone see, he was visibly anxious and quite frankly, annoyed.

“I mean, cmon, how could it that I got the worst district?” Coriolanus says, head in his hands. “He hates me. He really does.”

“Who hates you Coryo?”

“Dean Highbottom! Isn’t it obvious?” He cries out, hands flinging into the air. You slightly flinch back, never seeing your boyfriend in such state. “He hates me Y/N. He adores you.”

“He doesn’t adore me,” you say, feeling like you were stepping around eggshells talking to Coriolanus.

“He does!” Coriolanus screams in anger, getting up in a hurry.

“Wait, no Coryo, I’m sorry.”

But your words aren’t enough, they’ll never be for Coriolanus Snow, so he walks out without a second thought.

- - -

The next day, Coriolanus apologizes. It’s a breathy, quick 5 second apology, but you being so you—accepted it without a second thought.

You loved Coriolanus, so it didn’t matter how much he hurt you.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You felt quite excited, you and your boyfriend hadn’t exactly gotten to that stage in your relationship, so thinking about sharing an intimate moment with him filled you with giddiness.

His tip had entered carefully through your folds, making you slightly wince as it bullied its way to your walls.

“Coryo..” you breathe out hazily, doe eyes coming to meet his. He sucked in his breath at the sight, never has he felt anything as good as this.

He tries so hard convincing himself he doesn’t love you. That this—it meant nothing to him. He was just here for your money, your possessions as the only daughter of Cryon and Hermione Cicero. But as he felt your nails claw its way into his back, he lets out a slip, a tiny whimper that makes your head foggy.

He spilled into the condom, pulling out with a hiss. Although you told him you were clean, and it was fine if he didn’t wear one, he simply couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to accidentally bring in a child into the world, having no intentions of taking care of anyone besides himself—maybe Tigris, and his Grandma’am.

“I love you,” you say quietly as you sat up, watching him discard the plastic into your trash bin.

“I’m hungry, aren’t you?” He says, putting his shirt on. It kinds of pains you at his total ignorance of the intimate words you just shared, but you nod your head.

“I could use some food,” is all you say, putting on your pajamas from earlier. “What’re hungry for Coryo? I’ll ask the chef.”

- - -

Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom had allowed all the mentors and their tributes roam the arena for about 15 minutes, letting them think of ways to win the game.

You were talking to Bobbin, a boy from District 7 whom you’ve had become closer with these past few days.

Suddenly, the loud scream of Felix catches your attention and before you knew it, loud bombs filled the air as tall lights fell to the ground near you.

“CORYO!” You scream, coughing loudly at the dust filling your lungs.

“Quick Y/N, we don’t have time!” Sejanus screams, grabbing ahold of your hand.

“But Coryo—”

Meanwhile, a tall pole had crushed Coriolanus’s arms.

Well, he thought, this was it.

This was how he was going to die. His girlfriend and best friend hand in hand as they ran out of the arena, the sickening feeling of betrayal filled his guts.

“What’re you doing?!” One of the tributes screamed at Lucy Gray, who was struggling to get the giant metal off Coriolanus’s arm. “Run while you can you idiot!”

But she doesn’t bother, only focusing on getting Coriolanus out. And she does, successfully, before all went black.

- - -

“Coryo? Oh Coryo!” You say, hugging him softly to ensure you weren’t hurting him.

You had felt so guilty after everything had happened. You should’ve never ran off with Sejanus, Coriolanus was your boyfriend, you should’ve saved him.

“Is Lucy Gray okay?” Is the first thing he croaks out, which makes your heart slightly crack.

“She’s—she’s okay Coryo.” You say, brushing a few blonde curls out of his eyes.

“And where were you?” He says, gaze slowly turning into anger. “I was going to die, Y/N.”

“I know! I was going to—”

He cut you off. “But you didn’t, now did you?”

His bitterness towards you makes you want to cry, tears already forming at your lash line.

“Oh now you’re crying?” It seemed like everything you did seemed of inconvenience to Coriolanus, but he opens his arms, letting you reside in them as you let out a few tears. “Always the crybaby, Y/N.” He says, hand holding your head as you buried your face into his chest.

- - -

Coriolanus Snow never believed in love. Not when he used to look at his mother and father when they were still alive, and not when he found himself a girlfriend, you.

Your relationship was merely another step stone towards success, Coriolanus viewed it. You were the heir of your family, you had countless amounts of money, and you were easily fooled by his advances. To Coriolanus, he had hit the jackpot, regardless of loving you or not.

So why did he feel so weird watching you interact with Sejanus? Sure, he considered the former district 2 boy his best friend, but it was only because Clemensia had been spending time at the hospital. The flu, Dr. Gaul described it; but Snow knew better. He was there when she had gotten bit by the snakes, and to be completely honest, if she hadn’t, he’d probably have dated her instead of you.

Clemensia Dovecote was way more smart, and he knew he wouldn’t fall inlove because they were both after the same thing. Power.

But with you, you were head over heels for Coriolanus. It almost made him sick, if it weren’t for your family name.

He clenched his jaw as he saw you throw your head back, hitting Sejanus’s shoulder as you hysterically laughed at something he had said.

What was so funny? Nothing was funny in the Capitol, not now. Maybe he was bitter, he should’ve never cheated in the games. It was stupid, and now he was getting the punishment of getting sent to 12 as a peacekeeper for 20 years.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have cheated. And now he couldn’t even use his girlfriend’s family name as a way out.

He really should’ve known better. He knew you loved him, but he didn’t think you’d love him so much so that you begged your father to let you stay in 12 for a while to be with Coriolanus.

If there’s one thing about you—it’s that you’re a Daddy’s girl by heart, and of course, your father had once again served your request with a silver spoon. He hated that about you. He hated it. You got things too damn easily.

“Hi Coryo!” You say, making your way to him. Your beautiful sundress made him gulp, and he wanted nothing more but to snatch you away, pulling it off so he could get inside of you. But he couldn’t—he was in 12, much to his dismay.

“Y/N,” he says, placing his peacekeeper gun to the back. “Talking to the scums?”

“They’re just people from the district,” you say, frowning at his rudeness. “They’re nice, Coryo. Real nice, you’d like some of them.”

Coriolanus scoffs at that. How oblivious and stupid you were. Him, Coriolanus Snow, liking some of the district 12 citizens? What a fucking joke.

“Go along now Y/N, I’ll see you later.”

You nod, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before you left, leaving the other peacekeepers to whistle at Coriolanus who only responds with an eye roll.

When later eventually comes, he was packing away the Jabberjays in their metal cages, Sejanus being right next to him.

“I saw you earlier,” Coriolanus says nonchalantly, “talking to that woman in the window. What are you playing at Sejanus?”

Sejanus scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re gonna escape Corio. Leave the districts. And I’ll be helping them.”

Coriolanus sucks in a breath, “is Y/N all in this too?”

God, he hoped Sejanus said no. But then again, it’d give him an advantage if he had said yes.

“She is,” Sejanus says, continuing to tell Coriolanus of the plan.

Without Sejanus knowing, Coriolanus had tuned the jabberjay so it could record back the whole conversation. When Sejanus finally leaves, Coriolanus sneaks to where the train bringing the birds back to the Capitol stood, placing the jabberjay in it to send it to Dr. Gaul.

If anything, Sejanus was a blocking point in Coriolanus’s way, and getting rid of him and you were like killing two birds with one stone.

- - -

The next day came and you were peacefully talking to one of the younger girls in the district when you’re suddenly pulled away along with Sejanus.

“Hey! What the hell!” You scream, thrashing in the unfamiliar peacekeeper’s hold. “Get off me!”

You and Sejanus struggle, and Coriolanus almost wants to step in and get you out of his fellow peacekeeper’s arms. Almost.

“Coryo! Tell them they’ve been mistaken!” You cry out, locking eyes with your so called lover.

“You two have been charged with treason towards the Capitol.” The peacekeeper says, his cold gaze and strong hold on you makes you let out a whimper.

“Treason?” You say, “there has to be a mistake! Call my father! Call my father!”

“I’m afraid your father can’t get you out of this one, Miss. Cicero.”

He drags you and Sejanus up the main stage of the district. “Everyone! Pay attention! This is what will happen if you are disloyal to the Capitol!”

Another peacekeeper points a gun behind Sejanus’s back as the peacekeeper who was holding you earlier pokes your back with the cold metal. You felt terrified gazes of the citizens of District 12, including Lucy Gray, stare at you.

“CORYO! TELL THEM!” You scream, begging with your eyes. “Coryo, please. Please.”

But Coriolanus Snow stands still in his spot, not budging a thing.

You thought he had loved you—or at least, cared for you. You gave him shelter when he was at his worst, you gave him your virginity, you held him when he cried about how unfair Dean Highbottom was, you let him into your home, and you always were there for him. You practically did everything for Coriolanus Snow. And what did you get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Your Coryo won’t save you.” The peacekeeper snarls, before firing the gun.

Two gunshots go off, and the body of yours and Sejanus fall to the ground in an instant.

Coriolanus Snow almost wants to barf, his eyes closed for a minute before reopening them again.

Had it really been worth it? Ratting you and Sejanus out so he could get home to the Capitol faster?

He thinks so when your family and the Plinths give him their fortune as a thank you for being such a good boyfriend and friend towards their son and daughter.

If only they knew, though. But Coriolanus would never let that happen, because no matter what, Snow lands on top.

And this? It was just the beginning.

[divinesolas]

Always together

r.q: hi lovlie, hope your doing well :) I was wondering if you would consider a jacaerys x starkreader? were there parents sent them to live with rhaenyra as child to learn. there they meet jace and become super close. but then driftmark happens and there sent back north. (jace isn't happy abt this and begs his mother to let them stay.) years, years later jace is sent north to remind cregan (your brother) of there oath to rhaenyra. and he sees you there and is awstruck, like heart eyes and everything. just lots of fluff and maybe a smut if thats okay💗🫶🏻🫶🏻💗

w.c: 6.2k

c.w: porn with a lot of plot like barely any smut tbh, a lot of fluff, mainly young jacaerys and young stark, vermax apperances, aegon is an ass for like one scene, p in v, fingering (f!receiving), mutual pining, worries abour the future, not proofread

a.n: can you tell how much i love jacaerys <3 🫶

You were no more than seven when you first stepped foot in the red keep. You had been exhausted, it had taken you a full moon cycle to make it to king's landing. Without the comforts of your older brother or your parents it was the first time in your life you had been alone without your family and anytime you hadn't been sleeping you were probably crying. You missed them, your mother, your father but most of all your older brother.

‘I will miss you brother.” you press your head into his shoulder, already wet from the tears you had been weeping into it. He pulled you away from him, hands on your shoulders, he attempted to look strong and firm but you could see the teary glaze over his eyes. ‘I shall visit you i promise’ you sniff as he brings his hands to your cheeks and wipes away your tears, ‘you mean it?’

‘i do. And should anything happen to you I will ride out at first light and bring you back home.’ Despite being only a couple years older he always tried to act tough and he truly meant what he said, he even got on horseback and trailed behind the carriage you were in until he could not travel any further.

Your most trusted handmaiden, Eliza, was doing her best to make you look presentable as you were approaching closer and closer to the keep. “You must remember-” “i know you have told me a million times i must be proper i must bow i must refer to them correctly and i must not overstep.” “And you must train hard, girl. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that many would kill to get.”

You are quiet and stay quiet up until you are escorted to princess rhaenryas chambers and presented before her. “This is Lady Y/N Stark, your grace.’ you bow as low as you can go and fold your hands in front of you. “I am pleased to meet you, your grace, I must thank you for the opportunity to do this. I shall train hard.”

“Looks like she does not need your training. She is a righteous girl already.” rhaenyra slaps the man standing next to her on the arm before smiling at you. “I am pleased to meet you y/n, please ignore my husband ser laenor,” the man smiles at you and dips his head in greeting which you do back, “and my sons, jacaerys and lucerys.” she gestures with her hand to the two boys standing next to her. Lucerys who looked a mere year or two younger than you clung to his mothers leg and stared at you. Jacaerys puffed out his chest a bit and firmly nodded at you causing you to chuckle and dip your head to him. He reminded you of your brother when the two of you were a bit younger which brought you a sense of comfort.

“I will have one of the girls show you to your room and allow you to get settled in for a day or two before you begin. The trip here must have been rough.” Soon enough you are escorted out of the room and taken to your room. Your new home in a sense for you had no clue how long. You had thought you would cry as you had been this whole trip but with how kind the family seemed to be you felt as though you would do just fine without your family.

You went to bed soon after arriving and slept into the next day, Eliza had told you she was shocked you had not slept longer due to the long travel. She had gotten you ready for the day there was a firm knock on the door. It had been the lord commander Ser Harwin who had apparently been tasked by lady rhaenyra to show the two of you around the keep. Eliza had quickly finished dressing you for the day, your attire was very different from what you would wear back at home, it was so warm in the keep you had no need for your furs and almost felt naked without them.

The two of you walk out of the room and notice Ser Harwin is chatting with someone next to him. “My prince!” the two of you bow and he nods at you. “Good day.” “I hope you do not mind that he is to accompany us today.” “of course it is of no issue ser.” he smiles down at you, “you are a well spoken girl.” “thank you ser.”

The four of you begin to walk around the keep where ser hawin would point out the different routes and attempt to show you how to get around. The keep was massive. You had no clue how you would be able to remember how to get anywhere. Other than that you noticed how lifelast the place seemed to be, everyone was walking around with bored looks and the place even had a weird smell though you did not comment on it. It was so different from your life at winterfell where most smiled at each other and chatted and did not smell so strange. Harwin and Eliza would chat back and forth while you occasionally added a comment. The prince next to you said nothing, just kept his hand folded behind his back and kept stealing glances at you.

You grew worried that you had done something to upset him as whenever you would look his way he would turn his head away from you. “Did I do something to upset you, my prince?” you ended up asking him while harwin and eliza seemed to be deep in conversation about how many staircases there were and how obnoxious that was. He did not answer for a moment, playing with his hands before he looked you directly in the eyes. “I think you are very pretty.”

You are startled by his answer and look at him alarmed as he immediately looks back down at his feet and kicks at the floor. Harwin and Eliza chuckle as the two of you give each other a knowing glance while you get flustered and gulp before snapping out of your sorry state and reply to him. “Thank you, my prince. You are also very handsome.” does not look up at you but a wide grin falls on his face at your reply.

From that day onwards the two of you are inseparable. Whenever you are not doing your work you watch him train and the two of you spend so much time together you even begin to get invited to their family dinners where the two of you would continue to chat until you would be forced off to bed.

It had been a year into your time with the royal family and they had been more than kind to you. And your brother kept his promise to you, coming down that year for your nameday and promised he would be here for any future ones you do not celebrate in winterfell. Though you missed your family dearly, the family was so kind you barely noticed their absence. The princess especially seemed to put a lot of effort into helping you even after getting pregnant for the third time. You had just finished up for the day as you hear your name being called down the hall and smile as you turn already knowing who it is. “Jace what is it?” He had begged you to call him by his name and reluctantly you agreed after a couple months of being there and soon enough you began to call him Jace feeling all too comfortable with the prince. “You must come with me y/n.” he grabs your hand and begins to walk you down the hallway with him. “Where are we going jace?” “to the dragonpit you are to meet vermax.” “Your dragon, are you mad?” you attempt to pull your hand away from but he keeps a firm grip and continues to march his way to the pit with you at his side. “It is the task to show that I can properly introduce vermax to someone without him freaking out.” “And are you confident you can do this? What if I get burned to a crisp by him jacaerys!” “So I am jacaerys now?” “when you are attempting to lead me to my death i will call you whatever i please!”

The two of you stop and he grabs your arms, forcing you to look directly at him. “I promise I shall allow you to come to no harm. I swear on it in my life. Don't you believe in me?” he gives you a brave look and seeks an answer from you. You know he would never lead you somewhere where he knew you would be harmed, “i trust you, jace.” he smiles and thanks you as he continues to walk you to the pit.

The maesters greet you as you enter the pit and soon enough you are standing right next to jacaerys gripping his hand for dear life as they begin to lead vermax out.

“You scared pup?” Aegon made a comment beside you and you scoffed at him. “A wolf fears nothing, my prince.” you made an effort to not interact with the hightowers, no more specifically aegon. You had no issues with heleana who was kind to you and someone you would consider a friend though aemond avoided you you also had no issue being kind to him but aegon was a monster whom you avoided at all costs. The other training girls with you had warned you aegon was a bit,, inappropriate. Though due to your younger age they never gave you a firm answer when you asked what they meant.

“Dragons eat wolves, you know?” “but a dragon would have to be sober to take me down, my prince.” he scoffed at you and turned away from you and you miss the small smile on aemonds face as the maesters silence you all and vermax comes into sight. He is beautiful though he snarls at the sight of you and you take a step back gripping onto jacaerys arm. “Do not worry he will not harm you.” he says a couple words in valyrian which you do not understand which seems to calm vermax down and soon enough jacaerys is leading you closer and closer to vermax. You will die. You watch as vermax huffs in your direction, his eyes locked onto you. Jacaerys speaks again and vermax continues to watch you as jace takes one of your hands and guides it up towards vermax. Vermax smells you snarling again and you fear you might begin to cry from your nerves but trust jacaerys he places your hand on top of vermaxs nose. He hums and seems to relax. “Well done jacaerys!” your hand is taken off of vermax who is soon led away and you let out a long breath that you were holding it. “That was terrifying.” “you did well lady stark.” Jacaerys was grinning at you and laced your fingers with his, “I told you i would do it.” “I'm sorry I doubted you, jace.”

In the next year of your training you did not get to meet vermax again thankfully but you and jacaerys continued to spend more time together. As lucerys was no older he also began to accompany the two of you and followed you guys around. Jacaerys called him a pest but you would always hit his arm and tell lucerys that he was more than welcome to join you much to jacaerys dismay. He loved his brother he truly did but he liked getting his alone time with you and you ended up having to promise him you will always like him more than lucerys causing him to smile. You loved him, you were sure about it and it began to worry you though you assured yourself that it would be a problem for future you to worry about.

Your life seemed to be going great. Until the death of lady laena and ser harwin. You comforted jacaerys while he cried into your shoulder. You did your best not to try and only focus on jacaerys who needed you right now. You had heard the rumors, of course you did but you had done your best to avoid them. It did not matter to you if they were true or not though you would be blind to not see the truth in them as jacaerys had begun to develop curls in his hair just as harwin had. Many thought the prince was mourning the loss of lady laena though you knew better than that. And soon enough he was forced to go off to lady laenas funeral and begged his mother to allow you to come but you couldn't as it was a family only affair. You watched him leave with a heavy heart not knowing it would be the last time you see him for a very long time.

You and Eliza instead end up attending Ser harwins funeral where you finally allow yourself to cry over him. You had grown fond of him and he was a truly kind man you could not believe he was gone. The two of you stayed in the area for awhile and had just begun to pack up your things ready to head back to king's landing when you received a letter from princesses rhaenyra stating that the family would not be returning to king's landing and you were dismissed from your services saying you had done well with your training and she wishes the two of you will meet again in the future. All you could do was cry. Cry and cry and cry all the way back to winterfell as you think of jacaerys. You would never see him again, you were sure. It almost killed you to think about. You missed him so much just on the way home that you could not even imagine what it would be like to live your life without him. When you arrive back at winterfell with a celebration you try your best to look happy but all you could do is sob.

Almost over a decade has passed since you had last been in king’s landing, since you had last been in the red keep. Since you had last seen jacaerys. You replay your final moments together in your head often, if only you had known that that would be the last time you saw him you would have done it all differently so many different things you would have said and done. But it is in the past and there is nothing you can do now but mourn the relationship you once had and try your best to move on.

As a woman grows, many men would try and gain your favor, many even bold enough to ask you for your hand but you reject them all, a small hopeful part of you wishing you could be with jacaerys. You know one day you will not be able to avoid it and it scared you thought you were grateful that for now your brother seemed to be in no rush to see you married.

You were doing your tasks as you had everyday, treating today like you always did until Eliza bursted into your room, ��eliza!” she rushes towards you and fixes up your hair quickly ignoring your questioning as she grabs your nice furs from your closet and dresses you in them. “Whatever is happening eliza?” She does not answer and instead grabs you and drags you to the main hall where despite your questioning she does not answer and urges you to go stand next to cregan who was also dressed up standing next to your father and you the hall is scrambling making sure everything looks tidy. “Brother what is happening?”

He opens his mouth to answer but immediately shuts it and stands up tall as the doors open.

“Prince jacaerys velaryon!”

Your mouth goes dry as you see him. Standing tall in the middle of the room the prince you had been seeing in your dreams for years was now right in front of you. He was taller and definitely more handsome. He had curls that fell down to his shoulder and he wore a dark outfit. His face is firm and confident. It reminded you of when he tried to look like that years ago but unlike that time now it looked so right on him, like it wasn't some pretend act he was putting on.

You are in a daze and only snap out of it when you feel your brother's hand on your neck and dip you into a bow before pulling you back up. “My prince, it is good to see you once more.” jacaerys nods and seems to grip the scroll in his hand even tighter. “I'm sure you remember my sister y/n.” you notice his eyes go wide and he turns and finally looks at you. “y/n..” he mumbles in shock and takes the steps towards you. The only thing you can hear is the pounding of your heart as he soon stands right in front of you, his eyes darting all over your face, “is it truly you?”

“It is good to see you, my prince.” you resist the urge to call him jacaerys as you had all those years ago. You wish to touch him, lace your fingers with his, cup his face in your hands, anything but you do not. As if he can read your mind he grabs your hands and places a kiss on the back of it. You let out a breath as his hands linger with yours before he drops it down and he takes a step back. You take the moment to glance at your brother who has a smug look on his face which causes you to promptly look away from him.

“We are honored to have you here, my prince. Though this is rather unexpected.”

“I have important matters to discuss with you lord stark, involving the oath you swore to my mother.”

You are dismissed from the room to allow the men to talk though you almost wish to plead to stay so you can bask in jacaerys presence for a bit longer. You do not and are instead left to pace back and forth in the courtyard near the hall as Eliza attempts to urge you to sit down. “You will hurt your feet-” “do you think he remembers me?” “it clearly looked like he remembered you my lady please sit-” “whatever could he possibly be here for, eliza do you think he is betrothed.” “What does that have to do with his visit here?” you groan and run your hands along your face. You had thought you had gotten over him, but once you had seen him you once again felt like a lovesick fool just like when you were a child. He could not possibly be here for you right? No he had mentioned some oath your brother had sworn to his mother. The one thing you hated about winterfell was how hard it was to hear any news about what was going on with the royal family simply for the reason news took far too long to reach winterfell and by the time it did it was old news. You had heard nothing about jacaerys all these years or even the rest of the family. Other than of course the marriage between prince daemon and princess rhaenyra and the death of ser leanor which also pained you dearly. You worried for him.

In your pacing the doors to the hall open and Cregan and jacaerys walk out together with smiles on their faces as they joked around a bit together. Once they shall you they both paused and you watched patiently as Cregan said somethings to jacaerys who nodded before walking away leading jacaerys to come towards you.

“I am told you will show me around?” your brother and his meddling,, though this time you were more than happy and eagerly nodded. You wave away Eliza with that smug grin on her face as you begin to walk him around. Other than the occasional comment from you about where you were, the walk you share is quiet. It feels oddly reminiscent of when harwin has shown you around the keep, with your hands folded in front of you and you can see him glancing at you out of the corner of your eye and he looks away once you look at him.

The two of you now stand in the crypts of winterfell, completely alone so you feel brave enough to tease him “You have not changed.” he laughs and looks at the ground, “or maybe you just make me feel like a young boy again.” feeling bold you lightly place your hand on his forearm causing him to look up at you. “I have missed you, ja- my prince.” as if your words had brought a sense of relief to him he wraps you in a big hug. His head tucked firmly in your neck as he deeply breathed in your neck. “I have missed you more than you know y/n” you two stand there for you have no clue how long, simply basking in each other's presence you do not even notice you begin to cry. “Jacaerys,,,” “I know Issa prūmia. I'm sorry I was so upset to leave you.” you whine as he pulls away from you and cups your face to wipe away your tears. “I begged my mother to send you to Dragonstone, I had no clue how to write to you gods, I was so worried I would never see you again. I had even planned for one day to fly out here myself, I guess my wish came true though I wish it were with better circumstances.”

You sniffle and smile at him. He wanted to contact you, he had dreamed of seeing you the way you had him. He presses his forehead against yours and sighs, still rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. “Avy jorrāelan” he mumbles to you before he pulls away. You had remembered him mentioning he wanted to become fluent in valyrian and had plans for you to learn alongside him once he began to study but due to the circumstances you never had learned any. You don't ask him what it means though you are curious he would tell you if he wanted to.

“We should continue your tour.”

Suddenly you feel as though you were eight again. Chatting with jacaerys just like when you were younger, showing him around where you grew up and he was more than happy to hear you rant about winterfell. Once the tour is finished you guide him back to the main hall where a feast had been prepared for him. He appeared shocked by this, “you shouldn't have lord stark.” “we have a prince in our mists, we must honor you.” he shakes his head and you laugh. The three of you head to the main table and take a seat. “When you mentioned it earlier I had forgotten to extend my congratulations about the betrothal-” “I am not betrothed.” jacaerys rushed out and looked at cregan alarmed. He took a glance at you as well before looking back at cregan, “I meant your brother.” jacaerys lets out an oh and looks down at the plate in front of him as you try your best not to laugh. “Yes, I am very happy for him, my lord.” “But you are not betrothed? Is there a reason?” you hold your breath as cregan asks the question you had in mind. He pauses for a moment and glances at you once more before looking at cregan. “I,, have had a lady in mind since I was younger though I do not know if she likes me as well or if even her brother would approve.” you look down at your plate and freeze as cregan roars with laughter, you do not even glance up at the two of them as you feel jacaerys stare burn into the side of your head.

he must be talking about you. You are not stupid. Your heart is pounding out of your chest. Despite this being all you have ever wanted it feels so sudden. So you stand up and do not even notice the alarmed faces on cregan and jacaerys face as you rush out of the hall and even out of the walls of winterfell it all feeling so constricting. You run for a while while your head spins. You had just gone from dreaming of seeing the prince again to him basically asking for your brother's permission to wed you? You finally feel as though you are far enough and lean against a tree, your breath rapid as you close your eyes. You do not know how long you stand there, lost in your thoughts but it is certainly long enough for you to clear your head a bit. You loved him. Your time spent together today showed you clearly still did, that time has not changed you or him one bit. More so a part of you was scared of the reality of it, if you were to marry him you would one day be queen. Even the thought of marriage and motherhood terrified you, what of being the wife of the man ruling the seven kingdoms?

You hear a loud snarl and your eyes shoot open and you see a sight you know you haven't seen in over a decade. If you had thought he was big as a child he was truly terrifying now. Vermax stared at you as you were frozen where you stood. Every bone in your body shouted for you to yell but it was like the ground under you had turned into quicksand and you were stuck in your spot.

“Gīda ilagon vermax!” a voice cuts through your thoughts and suddenly jacaerys is standing between you and vermax. “Ziry iksos naejot sagon issa ābrazȳrys, ao jāhor daor ōdrikagon zȳhon” you have no clue what he says but it seems to work and vermax huffs in defeat and deflated to laying down on the floor simply staring at the two of you. Once vermax has settled jace makes his way over to you and cups your face feverishly checking you, “are you alright my lady?” “im okay im okay i promise.” he lets out a sigh of relief and presses your head to his shoulder, pulling you into a hug. He seems so worried and guilt begins to build up in your stomach. “I'm sorry.” “you have nothing to apologize for-” “i should not have run out of the room like that.”

He pauses for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to say as he continues to slowly rub your back. “If what i had said in there made you unforgettable, I'm sorry forget i had even said anything. Please just don't let this ruin the friendship we have built. I will get over it if I must."He's given you an out, you could say you did not feel the same and you would not have to worry about one day being queen or one day having to be a mother to the future heir, but you wanted him. You wanted so desperately to be his wife, “I am scared.” He pulls away from you and holds your face to look at him. “Of what?” “that i will be a bad wife, a bad queen, a bad mother-” “i will not pressure you to say yes but just know i know that you could never be any of those things. You have every right to worry, be nervous of what's to come but dare I tell you I am afraid too. When my mother was on her birthing bed, covered in blood and sweat looking as if she was about to die she had said I will claim any inheritance that she has and it terrified me. Not only for the thoughts of my mother dying but I am no way prepared to be king. But that is what time is for, i shall learn, you shall learn lest you allow it, but just know you are not the only one who is scared. But I will be there for you every step of the way should you want me to.”

You swear you had never seen someone look at you with so much love in their heart as jacaerys had been right this moment. You knew the words he said to you were true, the spoken and unspoken promises he swore to you he would fulfill until the day he died. The unspoken truth, those three simple words. “I love you.” they fall off your lips so easily it is as if you were born to say them, say them to him. And you swear you had never seen him look so happy as he did when he heard you say that, “Avy jorrāelan.” I love you. He had told you that earlier that day. He had always loved you. So when the two of you walked back into the main hall which was dead quiet, everyone including your brother looked upon the two of you eagerly and when jacaerys nodded at cregan the hall erupted into cheers.

The feast quickly turned into a celebration as people came up to congratulate the two of you and many more would have until you announced you would be going to see and jacaerys said he would walk you to your room leading you to dodge the look cregan had on his face.

“You have made me the happiest man in all the realms today, y/n” soon enough the two of you are standing face to face for a while just admiring each other before you take a step back towards the door. “I should head to bed.” “Of course.” Neither of you move to leave, he continues to stare at you and you end up leaning against your room door. “Would,” you pause, contemplating if you truly wish to push your limits like this, but fuck it. “Would you like to come in?” “i shouldn't.” he takes a step closer to you as you open your door and take a step inside he follows you right after, the look on his face unreadable as you smile and step further into the room until you are both in, simply just staring at one another you barely notice he closes the door and takes a long step towards you and pulls you into a heated kiss.

Almost ten years of build up to this moment and it was completely worth it. He cups your jaw and feverishly pushes his lips against yours, your hands grip his hips and he walks you back until you fall back onto your bed with a squeal. You wanted to comment that he could have warned you but he quickly climbs on top of you and continues kissing you. “We shouldn't be doing this.” he mumbles against your lips as he lazily begins to grind his hips into yours and you moan. “You're right we shouldn't.'' Instead of doing anything about it his hands begin to rub up and down your sides as he lips fall down your jaw and begin sloppily sucking on your neck. His thrusts grow quicker and more erratic by the second and your clothes suddenly feel as though they are burning your skin. “Undress me.” He wastes no time pulling and tugging at your dress until he is able to slide it down your body until you are bare before him and he stares at you with wonder. “Gevie” his hands run all over your body as he begins to kiss any inch of skin he can get his hands on, worshiping you as if you were a god sent down to him to bless him. Soon enough you are begging him to do something, though you have no clue what you are begging for, you do not know anything about what goes in bed between a man and a woman other than he sticks his cock in and you come out pregnant as told by your brother when you asked him. He sits up and begins to tug off his clothes, giving you a look of worry. “I am sorry if this will not be good. I do not know what I am doing.” “Neither do I, but we’ll learn together, isn't that what you said?” “It seems I did.” he slides the rest of his clothes off and kisses you once, one of his hands slides down and cups your sex causing you to gasp, “is this alright?” your head begins to spin as he rubs two of his fingers up and down, the squelching sound being covered up by your moan. “It is more than alright.” he has a satisfied look on his face as he continues soon adding another finger, you are so wet at this point you would not be shocked if there was a pool under your legs. If this was sinful than you shall be a sinner for life because you have never felt a greater pleasure than you had right this second.

“Can I put them in you?” “please.” Your plea is desperate as your body begins to crave more from him. He slides a finger in you and he lets out an estranged noise while you continue to moan. “You are so tight.” one finger soon turns into two which turns into three. He cannot get enough of the way you grip his fingers so tightly he believes if he were a weaker man he would not be able to pull them out of you. Though he is not confident, the way you moan, groan and plead for him to do what you are not even sure of and beg for some sort of release encourages him to be bolder, curl his fingers and begin to pump faster. He had never been so unbold, he is usually a very thoughtful man, someone who plans out his moves before doing them, unless he is blinded by rage which happens more than he would like, but with you he loses all his senses and acts in ways he swears he never would have before. He finds himself doing things he is unsure of including trying to pleasure you, though it seems to be working in his favor and you release all over his fingers.

You notice that he seems to be pausing, holding off on taking your maidenhood and you question him. “What if I am no good?” “Then as I said and as you said, we shall learn, together.”

You ignore the nerves you feel as he slowly begins to press into you and it hurts, it hurts like hell but you're sure if you wait it out it will be worth it. He laces his fingers with yours and allows you to grip his hand tightly as he works himself all the way in, “are you alright?” you take many deep breaths once he has fully pushed himself into you, “just give me a moment.” “Take as long as you need.” He kisses your collarbone and neck lightly as if his lips were feathers on your skin as he waits for you to give him the okay.

He hides it well but he is barely containing himself, your walls hugged him so tightly he feared that when you did give him the okay he would not be able to pull himself out of you. He loved you. He loved the way you felt, he loved that troubled look on your face, he loved the way your hands felt in his. He loved you so much he felt he could not breathe. Once you gave him the okay it took him a couple moments to compose himself before he began to move. With every thrust he imagined his future with you, he imagined taking you back to dragonstone to have a traditional Targaryen wedding, he imagined you round with his child who would be his heir, he imagined growing older with you and ruling by your side. Despite his fears about the upcoming war or his future he knew he could do anything as long as you stayed with him. He loves you, and he knew you did too as you allowed him to spill his speed in your and seal your union with a kiss.

Valyrian translations (all made with a translator i have no clue if these are correct)

Issa prūmia - my heart

Avy jorrāelan - i love you

Gīda ilagon - calm down

Ziry iksos naejot sagon issa ābrazȳrys, ao jāhor daor ōdrikagon zȳhon - she is to be my wife you will not harm her

Gevie - Beautiful

[sydnikov]

Being Bold || S. Jarvis

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Seth Jarvis / fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: Seth has a crush on you. A bad one, and he makes it very obvious throughout the years he’s known you, though you’ve still never taken him seriously because of his immaturity and energetic personality. Much to his chagrin, you keep denying him—until one night, scorned by thoughts of your most recent ex who never knew how to touch you right, you give in to Seth’s advances.

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v (birth control usage), oral (f receiving), very slight age gap (reader is 2 years older), alcohol mention, alcoholic consumption, minor mention of violence including blood, cursing

A/N: Wow. This one is something (it’s just smut with a small bit of plot don’t mind my dramatics). Here’s the jarvy debauchery as promised ✨ until the next, thanks for the support as always!

*Minors, you are responsible for your own media consumption. That being said, I will not block you for interacting with this fic or my blog, but always be aware of the content you choose to consume and the consequences it can have.

You’ve only seen Seth Jarvis as a kid.

Well, maybe ‘kid’ is too strong of a word to describe the immaturity gap. You’re only two years older than him, but it’s just that how he acts gives you the impression of a boy.

Not a man, but a boy. And it drives Seth absolutely insane.

He first meets you the year he joins the Hurricanes because you’re friends with the social media director (he later finds out you’re close to Lottie, Jesperi’s girlfriend, as well). He remembers the night vividly, what you were wearing, how soft your hand felt against the calluses on his own. How you looked at him, amusement and softness in the smile you flashed him.

Seth was smitten. Still is, actually, because you’re around more than ever. He sees you everywhere. After games, and even just around Raleigh because you live in the area.

He tries asking you out. Numerous times, but much to his chagrin you always turn him down.

“We just met, Seth.” A week after you first shake his hand.

��Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Well, he did. But, in his defense, he’d just broken up with her after he moved.

“I’m too old for you.” That one hurt, because that’s when he finds out you’re only two years older.

Seth is nothing if not persistent, though. He doesn’t give up even after all the rejections. He’s also pretty sure your reluctance is because you think he’s never touched a woman in his life.

Presumptuous, right? Andrei thinks so when Seth tells him after playing Call of Duty for several hours, but he recounts a conversation you had with Lottie (he still owes her and Jesperi a drink for that, actually) after Seth begged her to slide a good word in.

“You’re not into the mustache?” Lottie had giggled, taking a sip of her martini.

You were drinking a whiskey sour, which he knows because he bought it for you but had Lottie say it was from her. Your face burned red, either because of the alcohol or the question, he doesn’t know.

“No, no,” You laughed. “I like mustaches. And a nice stubble. They feel good on the thighs.”

“So what’s the problem? He’s in love with you, basically.”

“Isn’t he, like, I don’t know… Nineteen?” You had drawled, faking indifference while mixing around the olive in your drink with the little straw it came with.

“He’s twenty-two, babe.” She smirked. “Only two years younger.”

Lottie says she thinks you’re just wary of his immaturity. When he tries defending himself, Jesperi reminds him that he scored a goal the other night, pointed at you behind the glass where you sat with Lottie, and then proceeded to griddy.

Word on the street is that you weren’t impressed.

Nonetheless, Seth can’t change his personality for you, as much as he considers it. He thinks the sun rises and sets on you, but if you truly think you’re too good for him then he does have enough self respect to walk away and get over it.

But… He just doesn’t think that’s the case, here. You only seem reluctant—that’s it.

“You can’t force her to sleep with you, Jarvy.” Andrei tells him, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“I know.” He groans, his chin falling into his hand. “What do I do, then?” And truly, he’s run out of ideas. He’s played silly, nice, gentleman… What else is there left for him to do, other than give up?

Seth thinks of your radiant smile, then groans to himself because fuck. He really doesn’t want to give up.

“Give her space?” Andrei suggests. “Have you tried, just… Going away?” He frowns for a moment, trying to think of the right words in English. “Not ‘going away’—”

“Space? You think she just needs space?”

“Well, not too much space—”

“Svechy you're a genius.” Seth interrupts, jumping out of his seat with renown vigor. “I’ll buy you a drink for this, remind me!” And then he’s springing up from the couch, grabbing his keys and sprinting out the front door.

Andrei blinks. Once, twice, then shakes his head with a laugh. He feels like he should warn you, then promptly decides this is not something he wants to get in the middle of.

Seth takes his teammate’s advice to heart, and gives you the space he thinks you need to process his zealous pursuit of you. He can tell it catches you off guard because he’s stopped following you around like a lost puppy, along with all of the antics normally associated with his creative flirting.

In fact, it’s such a sudden change from what you’re used to that it freaks you out. Hurts a little bit, too, because did he just wake up one day disgusted by the thought of you?

You tell yourself you’re disturbed because you miss the attention. It’s been a while since you’ve had a guy foam at the mouth for you, after all, so now that it’s gone you’re just going through withdrawals.

It’s more than that, though, and you won’t admit it to yourself but when you spy him chatting it up with other girls your stomach twists in a way that you know screams trouble.

Maybe it’s because you just ended things with your latest boyfriend - a bore of a man who couldn’t make time for you outside of his work - and the vulnerability of being alone yet again is getting to you.

Is Seth really so bad? You think about him sometimes, when you’re alone in your apartment or even right in front of him. You’ve always had a soft spot for him, sure, but nothing more than friendly affection.

You’re questioning this now, when his attention is no longer being directed at you, because you distinctly remember him getting into a fight with some other player on the ice, and that’s the first time you remember thinking man and not boy.

The team it was against escapes you, but you remember someone getting in Sebastian’s space with a raised arm, and then Seth came flying in with a fist to the opposing player’s face and a lot of colorful words. Your jaw had dropped as the referees tore them apart, his hair dripping with sweat and a cut welling with blood dripping down his forehead.

The moment forces you to think that maybe altogether, his energetic personality, a smile that never leaves his face, and the unwavering loyalty for his friends combined isn’t such a bad thing after all. The revelation leaves you shaking and feeling quite awkward when he’s around, or even just being brought up.

“Do you miss Scott?” Lottie asks you one day when you’re out for lunch at Perry’s - a steakhouse near her apartment in North Hills - referring to your aforementioned ex-boyfriend. Even his name is boring.

You laugh a little, unable to not roll your eyes though your ire isn’t directed at her. “No. I knew it wasn’t going to last when I got into it, anyways.”

“It’s been about two weeks since you broke up with him.” She says, a statement rather than a question. The look on her face tells you she’s trying to go somewhere with this. “Has anyone caught your eye lately? You’re too pretty to be single, you know.”

It’s obvious that Lottie is trying to ask if you’ve reconsidered Seth at all. It’s been the talk of your whole friend group, including the guys, that he’s suddenly stopped in his bold pursuit of you, though none of them think it’s because he’s lost interest.

“I don’t know.” You whine, begrudgingly stabbing a piece of potato with your fork. “I mean, he’s… Seth.”

“Seth, who has spent his entire time on the Hurricanes trying to win you over?” She says with a raised brow. “Just because he’s had his fun doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy.”

You don’t have a response to that, so instead you just nod. She is right, as much as you hate to admit it. Seth is a successful professional hockey player in his prime, of course he’s been with his fair share of women and will continue to do so as long as he’s single.

If that was your case you’d certainly be having fun, too.

“If his casualness towards dating really bothers you, you should just talk to him.” Lottie says after a moment. “He’s dying for you to speak to him, I swear it.”

You concede. “I’ll talk to him the next time I see him.”

Fortunately for you, that ‘next time’ doesn’t happen for quite a few more weeks, and when you do finally run into him again it’s when you’re slightly tipsy, drinking at a bar near to PNC Arena after the boys have won a game.

You don’t even take note of his presence at first, in the middle of gossiping with some of your friends who just so happen to know the players.

The gossip? Your ex-boyfriend, Scott, and his inability to make you come.

“I mean, he wasn’t bad or anything.” You say. “He had all the knowledge and stuff, just, like, couldn’t do anything. Y’know?” You’re slurring your words a little bit, but everyone around you nods like you’re making some big, important speech.

“So did you have to fake it?” Someone asks. You can’t even remember how Scott was brought up in the first place.

You giggle; you can’t help it. “Oh my god, yes, sometimes it was so bad I had to say I was cramping just to get him to stop trying.” That sends everyone into boisterous laughter, and in your slight drunkenness you can’t help but join in.

The song changes then, and it must be one everyone knows because it scatters you and the rest of the girls into smaller groups, some running to the dance floor while others wander back to the bar. You stay seated, however, content to watch as you sip your drink.

“Whiskey sour?” That’s when Seth makes his presence known. His voice murmured in your ear catches you off guard, and you jump a little as you turn to face him. “Seth.” You greet, not unkindly. “Yeah, but it’s only my second.”

Just as soon as he appeared, he’s jumping back up from his seat next to you. “I’ll get you a third.” You don’t have time to protest as he disappears, and your affection for this rambunctious man only continues to grow as he bounds back moments later, sliding you your drink with a smug grin.

“Thank you.” You smile, a little shy, a little bashful, as you take your first sip. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Anything for my girl.” Ah, there it is. You’re unable to hide the obvious roll of your eyes, but Seth’s smile doesn’t waver. “Not your girl, Seth. Just got out of a relationship, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He says. “Scott, right? Sounds like that was doomed from the start.”

You narrow your eyes, unsure of the knowing tone he’s taken on. “And how would you know?”

“He couldn’t make you come, yeah? What a tool.”

Suddenly, your throat is very dry, and you’re taking a very large sip of whiskey that has you wincing. So… He heard you say that, then. Is it hot in here? You have the sudden urge to fan yourself. Fuck fuck fuck. Seth, of all people, should not be making your thighs clench.

You don’t realize how silent you’ve gotten until he speaks up again. “I could make you, you know.”

That has you choking, and you quickly throw back the rest of your drink to soothe your throat. “What?” When you finally meet Seth’s eyes, he’s still grinning at you, though it’s more carnal. His eyes darken as he responds.

“Come. I could get you to come so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day.”

Your reply is meek, knowing deep down inside you’re fighting a losing battle. “Have you even touched a girl before?” He scoffs, and you know as well as he does that he’s been with his fair share of women. It’s one of the reasons you’re so hesitant to take him seriously.

Seth is undeterred, though, as he slides even closer to you. You stare straight ahead, determined not to meet his eyes even though you’re positive there’s a red flush creeping up your neck as his breath tickles your ear.

He says your name, a low purr that’s almost mocking like he can see right through your bullshit because finally, he’s breaking through to you. “You know I have. None of them are you, though.”

You squirm in your seat as his hand creeps up your shoulders, grasping the back of your neck as he gently turns your head to face him. He squeezes reassuringly, and now you’re melting into his embrace as a gasp falls from your lips.

“I want you. You know that, baby.”

“Seth…”

“Let me show you, please?” Then those warm eyes are bearing into your own, and now you’re getting a glimpse of the boy you first met all over again. This time, though, instead of feeling innocent affection all you feel now is heat.

You were stupid to think the adoration he never hesitates to show for you wouldn’t win you over eventually.

Blinking owlishly, you move one of your hands to grip his arm, looking so dainty against the rugged muscle under his skin, and, well. You cave.

“Okay.”

Seth doesn’t expect you to give in so easily. He freezes, doesn’t move until you gain your wits back and pinch his thigh with a gentle roll of your eyes. “Are you just going to sit there or should I find someone else to entertain me?”

That gets him moving. It’s his turn to look anxious as he runs a hand through his hair, still processing the fact that he didn’t have to convince you more. He wasn’t actually expecting to get this far with you—quite literally, the woman of his dreams.

“Shit, okay.” He laughs, jumping out of his seat and lacing his fingers with yours. “You’re serious, then.”

“Somehow.” You deadpan. Somehow your legs are still clenching and your heart is beating a little too fast to be normal. “Don’t fuck it up.”

He looks to you, a little terrified, and you can’t help but break the irritated front and send him a small smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly even as your words are all snark. Truthfully, you’re also scared, but not of the sex, but rather the developing feelings that might grow deeper afterwards.

You just got out of yet another disappointing relationship. You don’t want whatever this is with Seth to end with the same result.

He does a good job of distracting you from your destructive thoughts, though, as he pulls you out of the bar like two teenagers trying to sneak away from their parents. You suppose it’s not unlike that same feeling because Jesperi catches your eye as you exit the doors, and he sends you such a shit-eating grin it has you ducking your head to avoid his obnoxious stare.

You suppose you do owe him a favor now after all.

For the first time ever, standing outside in the biting cold, Seth kisses you as you’re waiting for an Uber. You being busy trying to look like you’re not about to go hook up, he suddenly grabs you by the waist and smooths his lips against yours so good your toes curl.

“Fuck.” He murmurs into your mouth. “I can’t get enough of you.” His teeth catch your bottom lip, and you unabashedly moan. You run your hands up his chest, around his shoulders, and to the back of his neck where you card your fingers through thick strands of hair, tugging from the roots.

“Seth…” You gasp when he detaches his lips from your own only for him to smooth down your jawline, then down to your neck where he sucks wet kisses into your sensitive skin. “Fuck, we’re in public.” With a hiss, you pull him away from your neck and pointedly ignore the wetness in your panties when he groans at the loss of contact.

He looks at you like a baby getting its favorite toy taken away, and you can’t ignore how his desperation turns you on wildly. It takes everything in you to not let him go back to feasting on your neck.

“When’s the Uber getting here?” You ask after a moment. You’re both panting, tipsy from the taste of each other’s lips as you try to catch your breath.

Seth pulls out his phone, and as you admire the way the light illuminates his face you completely miss the words coming from his mouth.

You flush. “Say that again?” Seth grins wickedly, brings you in by the back of your neck and kisses you, then pulls away too soon for your liking. “The Uber. It’s right here.” He then wraps an arm around your waist, digging his fingers deliciously into your skin, and leads you into the Uber as it arrives right on time.

He rattles off his address to the driver, then settles back into the seats. His arm snakes around your shoulders, and you hum your appreciation as you sink into his chest. You feel him kiss the top of your head in response.

You could fall asleep, if you really wanted to. The sudden switch in mood from carnal desperation to gentle affection would give you whiplash if you weren’t so at ease resting against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The drive passes fairly quickly, and Seth doesn’t stop touching you as you make your way up the elevator to his apartment. His hand sneaks to your ass, giving it a squeeze before you slap his arm away.

“Cameras!” You hiss, though it’s with little mirth as a small smile curves up your lips. Seth merely laughs, slides his hand back down to rest on your lower back. “They don’t care. Now c’mere.”

You make out until you can’t breathe, and as you pull away it’s just in time as the elevator doors open. Your heart rate picks up, and you hide your nerves as he grabs your hand and practically sprints out of the elevator with you.

“We have all night, you know.” You giggle, absentmindedly rubbing your thumb over the top of his hand. Seth groans playfully, but his words strike you as serious even as he masks it with a grin.

“Not long enough, babe.”

You don’t respond, partly because you don’t know how to and partly because he’s just unlocked his door, and you’re too busy taking in his apartment. You’ve been to Andrei’s house numerous times, Jesperi and Lottie's apartment, Jordan’s for his famous house parties… It’s just now that you’re realizing you don’t actually know Seth all that well.

What you do know, though, is that he’s eyeing you like he can’t wait to devour you, and the reminder that you don’t even know his favorite color exits your mind as you sidle up to his chest, grabbing him by the lapels of his suit to drag his lips down to yours.

“Time to impress me, lover boy.” You hum into his mouth, fighting a shiver when he nips at your bottom lip. Seth chuckles, one of his hands sliding down your back to squeeze your ass, the other tugging your hair back to expose your neck.

He kisses your cheek once, twice, mouths at your collarbone with teasing bites that have your eyes fluttering shut, and then it’s like he loses patience as suddenly his hands are picking you up by your thighs and curling your legs around his waist.

You squeak in surprise. “Seth!” You admonish, because of course it turns you on that he’s able to throw you around effortlessly. He seems to have that effect on you.

Seth maneuvers the two of you through his darkened apartment with ease, knowing the route to his bedroom like the back of his hand. Your attempts at distracting him include sucking a bright red hickey on his neck, fully intending it for it to be bright enough that his teammates give him hell for it the next day.

Once he pushes open the door with his foot, he brings you to the foot of his bed and unceremoniously drops you. You scoff with indignation at his manhandling, though you know he knows you like it if the smirk on his face is anything to go by.

A tiger stalking its prey, Seth crawls on top of you and meets your eager lips in another kiss. His hands smooth down the curves of your hips to your thighs, slowly spreading them open. He mumbles something, and you miss it completely.

“Hm?” You run your hands through his hair, enjoying the way the black strands are moussed from your touch. Your shirt is also already halfway up your torso as he helps you tear it off. “I said I’ll wear your marks proudly. My girl.” He coos, flicking open the clasp of your bra and immediately moving down to your chest.

“Fuck.” He groans. “They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”  Your laugh quickly turns to a gasp as he sucks your right nipple into his mouth.

Your other nipple is taken by his fore-finger and thumb, rolling the sensitive nub between the calloused pads. Between him sucking on one tit and playing with the other, you’re practically a whimpering mess, trying to simultaneously wiggle out of his grip yet get closer at the same time.

“Seth,” You whine. “I need you.” You’re admitting it openly, foregoing coyness in favor of your own pleasure. Yeah, so what? You like this overgrown puppy of a man, and you really want to fuck him. Pulling his head back by his hair, you eagerly slam your lips back together.

“Need me?” He grins against your lips. “Where do you need me? Gotta be specific, babe, because I can be here,” He emphasizes a quick squeeze to your tit. “Here,” The other hand smooths over your ass. “Or here...” He trails off into a low rumble, parting your eager thighs.

Based on the tortured groan he lets out, you assume he can probably feel the wetness that’s soaked through your jeans. You’re too turned on to be embarrassed, though.

“Damn it, Seth, just touch me.” You hiss, keeping his hand pressed between your thighs while the other is already working open the button of your jeans. “Fucking tease.” You mutter, though it’s light-hearted and he knows it based on his snicker.

He helps you peel off the rest of your jeans, throwing them somewhere behind you. It’ll be fun trying to hunt for those in the morning. When he sees the dainty white lace covering your pussy, he lets out his most needy sound yet.

“Shit.” He breathes. “Wore these for me? So pretty. My pretty baby.” He murmurs as he thumbs the lace, running two fingers over the soaked fabric. If you could see, you’d guarantee his pupils are blown wide.

Your hips rise at the friction, wanting more. And because you’re still hellbent on resisting him, apparently, you roll your eyes, spitting out your next words. “You knew I was coming home with you, didn’t you? Asshole.” Though your words are all snark, your tone screams laughter.

Strangely enough, the banter gets you off more than any dirty talk in the world. It’s familiar, relaxing, and Seth clearly doesn’t mind either as he merely chuckles. “I just know you that well, don't I?” The look on his face offers no room for argument.

And, well, you suppose he isn’t wrong. You are here in his bed at the end of the day, right?

You grumble something that to his ears sounds like ‘shut up’ and then you’re sliding your panties down your thighs, letting him take care of the rest as, like your other clothes, he tosses them somewhere behind him.

If you thought the sight of your covered pussy would get the best reaction from him, it’s nothing compared to the way his entire body freezes at seeing it bare.

You’d had a feeling something big was going to happen after Lottie's sly words, so you took the liberty of shaving everywhere just two nights before. You’re glad for that, as Seth is looking at the heat between your legs like he doesn’t know where to start.

Teasing him in a normal setting about not knowing how to touch a woman is one thing, but making a remark now as anxious anticipation is all over his face just feels wrong.

You do like him, after all—quite a bit, you’re coming to find.

Reaching out your hand, you wait for him to grasp it before you pull him down to hover over your awaiting form. “C’mere, baby.” The pet-name slips without thought, but you can’t make yourself regret it because the way his face lights up is a look you won’t forget any time soon.

He laughs a little as your eyes finally meet, like he can’t believe he’s actually about to fuck you and you’re going to let him. “Tell me how to touch you?” He asks, not a demand but more of a request.

Taking his right hand, you lead him down the length of your body, over your breasts and down your stomach until your hands are resting just below your navel. “You know how to find the clit?” You tease, partly joking and partly serious.

Seth scoffs like the very thought offends him, and the mild dig does its job of making him forget his earlier nervousness.

“Of course I know where the fucking clit is,” He replies, pointer and middle finger already sliding down and gathering the slickness lathered in your lower lips. “Scott is such a dumbass.”

Well, it seems the familiar, cocky Seth is back now.

“...didn’t even realize what a bombshell he had right in front of him.” You miss the first part of his sentence because he did, in fact, find your clit, and unlike your ex, knows exactly how to touch it.

Your mouth opens into an ‘o’, and Seth hums a pleased noise as his fingers work your sensitive clit into a swollen, throbbing mess. Your hips move in time with the flicks of his fingers and you don’t even realize you’re panting until Seth leans forward and licks a stripe all the way from your navel down to your soaked opening.

When you start bucking into his mouth, he grabs your hips and holds them down to the bed, forcing you to take it. You whine, hands finding purchase in his hair as his tongue laps at you like you’re his favorite meal. He dips into your entrance in time with the quick circles he’s drawing over your clit, and oh, suddenly you’re much closer than you thought.

“Tastes so good.” You hear him grunt. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Seth,” Gasping, you can’t decide if you want to keep him close or shove him away. “Shit. Seth, fuck, I’m close.”

“Yeah? Already?” Your confession only seems to reinvigorate his efforts, and the next thing you know two long fingers are sliding their way into your cunt. “Gonna come for me?”

Quicker than you expect he finds the sensitive wall of flesh inside you, and his fingers curl up against it which sends you keening. Loudly. You slap a hand over your mouth, but Seth quickly tears it away.

“Nobody here but me and you.” He grins, and just to rub it in, presses a hot kiss to your clit. “I wanna hear you scream.”

“What a gentleman.” You manage to squeeze out, and in revenge for your snark he immediately sucks your clit between his lips and rapidly curls his fingers inside you.

Seth watches with hooded eyes as your own squeeze shut, teeth biting into your kiss-swollen lips while your hands tug at his hair. Your thighs are shaking on each side of his head, and suddenly he wants you to come for him like his life depends on it.

“You gonna come?” He asks. Your walls clamp around his fingers and he knows you’re close. “Yeah? Can you come for me? I know you want to.”

Your entire body shakes all while he keeps you tethered to the bed. Your mind, though, is floating, and you can practically see white as his lips don’t stop sucking, his fingers don’t stop curling, and it’s too much but also not enough and you want to shove him away yet demand he never stops touching you.

And your high is right there, you can practically taste it, but your body is wound so tight and you can’t remember the last time you’ve let go that you remain stuck right on the edge.

There are tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you tug at his hair. Seth meets your eyes, looks a little concerned after reading the desperation on your face, and then understands when a broken moan tumbles past your lips.

Seth, a little shit as always, brings you back to the edge with his words alone. “It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” He slips in a third finger. “Bet you haven’t had anyone make you feel like this. Just me. Hopefully always me.”

“Seth,” You croak. “Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He urges. “Let go for me. You’re right there, I know it. You’re so tight, fuck, there you go.”

His mocking words echo in your mind with the low drawl of his voice, dark eyes staring at you like you’re a feast, and his damn fingers curling just right against your spongy wall.

His free hand suddenly moves, presses down over your lower abdomen, and oh. “Such a good girl.” Seth croons as you fall apart.

It’s the last thing you hear as your vision goes white, and the heat in your body explodes with wave after wave of ecstasy pumping from the tips of your toes all the way to the hair on your head. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you’re pretty sure you’re making some sort of strangled noise as you ride your high that seems to go on forever.

By the time you come back, your legs are still shaking and Seth is still gently stroking your inner walls with careful circles around your clit. He's my gazing up at you with pure, unbridled adoration and the emotion in his eyes makes your heart thump.

You don’t even realize your fingers are still tangled in his hair until you have to let go because they’re cramping, and then Seth finally removes his fingers and slowly crawls back up your body.

You’re still catching your breath when he presses a long, soft kiss to your lips. “How was that?” He questions almost shyly. His need for reassurance might have had a past you rolling your eyes, but right now all you want to do is hold him and thank him for making you feel so good.

Especially after Scott. Asshole.

You shudder, clit still throbbing as you wrap your arms around his heavy shoulders and bring his weight down on top of you. His very hard cock brushes against your hip with the movement, and you’re reminded that he hasn’t had any semblance of relief yet.

“Thank you.” You whisper. It’s definitely weird to thank someone after they eat you out, right? Probably, but you don’t really care.

His lips brush against your cheek in response, heart swelling at the gentle vulnerability you’re showing him. He’s planning on running to the bathroom to get you a towel, but freezes when he feels your hands peeling off the suit he totally forgot he was wearing.

“Babe?” He mumbles, a little confusingly, but all you do is kiss him and that shuts him up. He doesn’t break contact even as he shrugs off the rest of his suit, peeling off his undershirt until he’s more than halfway bare. Your hands carve lines over the hard planes of muscle on his chest, scratching lightly with your nails over his nipples which has him flinching into your mouth. Snickering, you make your way down the rest of his chest, past his waist, under his boxers, and then you’re wrapping your hand around his hot, pulsating dick.

Seth groans, almost collapsing on top of you as you squeeze lightly. It’s a dream come true, him touching you and now you touching him. He wants to close his eyes at the feeling of your gentle strokes, but he insists on keeping them open to watch the enraptured look on your face.

Then your other hand moves, unbuttoning his slacks and sliding them over his hips and that’s when he jerks back to the present. “Sweetheart,” He gasps. “You… You don’t have to.”

You smile at his breathlessness. “You don’t want to fuck me?” You pout, though it quickly turns back into a grin when his eyes widen in panic. Another day you’d blow him, when you aren’t so desperate to get him inside you.

Seth briefly removed himself from on top of you to lean over his bed, rifling through his nightstand drawer. You assume he’s looking for a condom and that his efforts fail when he eventually closes the drawer with a curse.

He looks back to you, all messy hair, swollen lips, and glistening eyes. “I don’t have a condom.” He informs regretfully.

“I’m on the pill, if you’re…” You trail off, unsure. “If you’re okay with that. And I’m clean.”

“Hell yes I’m okay with that.” He breathes. His cock hardens even more at the thought of feeling you raw, if even possible. “I’m clean too.” And then he’s kissing you again, long and slow and deep, and you’re happy to let him take the lead as your brain is still trying to play catch-up from your orgasm.

Seth eventually breaks away only to reattach to your neck, nipping at the skin likely already covered in his marks, hands now making their way back down your body. He playfully flicks your nipple as he does so, grins when you flinch upwards.

“Have I told you how much I love your body?” He says in-between kisses, almost like an afterthought. He’s in the middle of spreading your thighs open, fingers slipping through your leftover wetness and brushing your clit when you respond.

You help in his endeavors, raising your legs to curl over his hips as he situates himself on top of you. “You’ve mentioned it a few times, I think.” You reply, breath hitching when his cock presses against you.

“It’s perfect.” He continues, like he didn’t even hear you. “You’re perfect.” He wraps his hand around his dick, guides the head to your entrance and pushes in. All words escape you, and your head falls back with a moan.

He sinks into you with a pleasurable sound of his own, eyes squeezing shut as your warmth envelops him. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he thrusts slowly into you, bottoming out. “So tight.” He hisses.

“Oh, fuck,” You whimper, digging your nails into his back. Seth stills, thinking he's hurting you. “Shit, am I—”

“Don’t you dare stop.” You quickly interrupt, crying out when his tip rubs against your sensitive inner walls just right. Seth relaxes at your words, a cocky grin spreading over his face. “Sorry, sorry.” He chuckles, picking up the speed of his thrusts.

Like before when his tongue was in you, it doesn’t take you long before noises are escaping your throat uncontrollably or for your legs to tremble from where they’re wrapped around his waist. The sensations are more because you’re already so sensitive, so strung-up, and so eager for another release that you give up any pretenses of trying to play cool.

Your head lolls back onto the bed, all strength leaving your body as Seth happily does all the work on top. Quick, short pants are coming from his mouth, and his chest is heavy where it presses down against yours. With every thrust his pelvis is rocking into your clit, sending sparks up your body as you clench rhythmically around his cock. It’s burning you from the inside-out in the best way possible, and very quickly you’re already approaching the edge.

You try to express your impending release, but all that’s able to come from your mouth is one long moan. Seth, somehow, knows exactly what that noise means, and is suddenly pulling out. “What the fuck?” You practically shout with indignation, glaring at the man on top of you with squinted eyes.

Ever the comedian, he only laughs at your irritation. “Hold on, bear with me.” His hands grab your waist, then rolls you over onto your stomach. He raises your hips, pushing down on your lower back into an arch, and all previous complaints leave you as he’s unable to help himself and runs his hands over your ass.

You’ll think later on why him being unfazed with your attitude makes your heart warm.

“Spread your legs for me.” He murmurs, tapping at the junction between your thighs. You do as he says, and shiver when his fingers go to part your cunt once you’re open. You can’t see his face, but imagine the look on it to be one of enrapturement. You turn your head finally, pressing your hips down onto his hand where it remains touching you.

Your earlier guess was right; his pupils are blown wide, jaw hung open just a little bit at having this view of you from behind. Meeting his eyes, you stare imploringly.

While the sudden need for him scares you, you don’t shy away. Rather, you meet his desires head-on in the form of pushing your hips back against him when he finally pushes in, smothering a whimper as his body looms over yours.

Neither of you talk in favor of letting your pleasure speak for you. The new position feels more intimate, oddly enough; his chest presses onto you from every angle, and you can feel his breath every time he pants into your ear. At the same time his arms are wrapped around your waist, hands kneading at the flesh of your hips while he thrusts into you from behind.

All too soon you’re reaching your peak just like before, and the buildup feels so sweet because he’s hitting you deeper, unrelenting in his thrusts despite how your arms collapse from underneath you. Seth doesn’t flinch, merely picks you back up and presses a hand to your abdomen to keep you there.

With your arms free, you realize that your clit is feeling neglected, and as you sneak your right hand in-between your legs he’s suddenly beating you to it, slapping your own hand away and replacing it with his own.

When it’s all said and done, you don’t think you’ll ever forget the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive nub so deliciously. Between his dick rutting into your sweet spot mercilessly and the rough pads of fingers stimulating your clit, your eyes are slamming shut with your mouth opening in a silent scream as for the second time that night, Seth is sending you into release.

He carries you through it with noncommittal praise while you’re lost in white noise and starry vision. The sight of you crumbling beneath him sends sparks throughout his body, and it doesn’t take long between the rhythmic clenching of your cunt and the pleasured sounds falling from your lips for him to flood your insides with his cum.

“Oh, fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck.” Seth loses any semblance of restraint of trying to be gentle, as his last thrusts rattle your frame and have you whimpering by the time he’s done releasing, your overstimulated clit throbbing in time with the slow rocks of your calming bodies. “So good. You did so good, yeah?” Seth is rumbling into your ear, voice hoarse and tired as he carefully slides out of you. Eyes still closed, you flinch at your sensitivity. “Sorry, babe.” He whispers, having to regroup for a moment as his softening cock meets cool air after being buried inside you.

You attempt to speak, but the only sound that leaves your mouth is a groan as your aching limbs stretch. You don’t bother opening your eyes yet, either, perfectly content to lay in your post-orgasmic pleasure and not think about the future.

Seth doesn’t let you wallow for long, however, as he’s suddenly leaning over you again. “Can you turn over? I have a towel, it’s warm.” He asks, back to shy and unsure. Now that you’re not caught up in the throes of sex, he’s not quite sure how you’re going to act. “You also need to go pee.”

Your default moods of snarky and mildly irritated is what he gets. “No.” You grumble, though it’s not mean as you bury your head in his pillow, still flat on your stomach. Having no energy to move, you don’t expect Seth to do anything about it, either.

He raises a brow at your sass, not quite sure if he should be relieved or concerned. Huffing, he makes a grab for your hips. “Guess I’m carrying you to the bathroom, then.”

“Seth!” You shriek as he attempts to manhandle you, a burst of energy fueling your efforts in trying to get away. “You little shit, no, fine, fine!” And Seth wins just like that, as you concede the battle and roll from your stomach onto your back. You glare as he leans over your torso, bringing the towel down to clean up the mess in-between your thighs.

His confidence comes back, little by little, as the banter returns naturally and your dynamic doesn’t change despite indulging in your bodies’ most primal desires. “You’ll thank me in the morning.” He grins when he finishes, sliding off the bed to bring it back to the bathroom. You follow, doing your business so quickly you leave before he’s done with his own.

When he comes back you’re in the same position he left you in, like you never left. “So I’m staying the night, then?” You prompt as he goes to sit next to you, a little teasing, a little serious. Where do you stand with him now?

He shrugs, masking his nervousness. “If you want to.” He sinks his teeth into his lip, eyeing you from where he sits. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, and it slightly unnerves him.

Your mysteriousness is also what captivated him about you in the first place too, though. With that, he realizes he wouldn’t have gotten this far if you hadn’t liked him at least a little bit. Taking a deep breath, he takes the bold route, grabs your hand, and does what he does best:

Be bold.

“I want you to stay though, like, really badly.” He admits, meeting your curious eyes. You suck in a breath at his words, and Seth continues. “You know I like you. A lot. And I think you like me too.”

As if knowing he’s waiting for your reassurance, you reply quietly. “A little presumptuous of you, yeah?”

Seth grins, and you can’t help but wonder how you were able to resist it for so long.

“So… You’ll stay?” He tilts his head, reminding you of a puppy. You go to respond, maybe with another sarcastic reply, and he seems to know this even before you do. “Please?”

And, well, you can’t deny him when he’s looking at you like that; soft, brown eyes full of adoration gazing at you like you’ve hung the stars and the moon. “Okay.” You relent, grinning happily as he mouths something like ‘fuck yeah’ and rolls over next to you.

“Do you want to shower?” He suddenly asks, after you’ve already curled underneath his sheets with your body pressed against his. He makes a nice furnace, and you’re mad at yourself for not indulging in him sooner. “Because I have a big one. It has these jets that spray from different angles, and you can go alone or I can join or—”

“Seth.” You interrupt, poking his chest to get his attention. He gulps at the amused expression on your face. “Stop talking.”

“Okay.”

It’s silent for several minutes, and you’re almost asleep until he speaks up again.

“Can I be your boyfriend now?”

“Oh my god.” You hiss. “If I say yes will you let me go to sleep?”

You can’t see his face but you know for a fact there’s a stupid grin on it. “You know, I think you’re gonna fall in love with me one day.”

“Keep dreaming, babe.” You say.

But you both know he won’t be dreaming for long.

A/N: I like this one a lot tbh. But my lord I didn't realize how repetitive writing smut is so I need to have at least a little plot established before I can just jump into it 😭 regardless, I hope this is everything y’all wanted in terms of me writing for him and more! Please be sure to reblog and comment, thank youuuuu

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[sleepyhollands]

false god

PAIRING harry styles x reader

SUMMARY harry’s having trouble finding enough time to spend with y/n, even after she drops everything and joins him on tour. when they talk, they only seem to argue. when they don’t, they only seem to fuck.

WARNINGS she’s an angsty one— lots of miscommunication, poorly executed arguments, and general couple fighting content. BUT!! there is lots of really cute fluff at the end :> also, beware of smutty content such as soft!dom harry (my favorite), oral (f!receiving, implied m!receiving), unprotected p in v, a brief hesitation to get naked on y/n’s part, an even more brief mention of bondage play, harry leaves like one love bite, and tooth-rotting holding each other while having sex content. lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT 5.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE fun fact this was supposed to be done months ago and then literally everything that could have gotten in my way did just that. but she’s here now!! writing this was a challenge but i feel so good about it now that it’s complete and i can’t wait for you all to read it. please lmk you enjoyed by leaving feedback and/or reblogging!! special thanks to @cherryjuiceblues for beta reading for me <3 ily <3

LOVER SELECTION one-shots here.

copyright © sleepyhollands. all rights reserved. || my masterlist.

“harry, it doesn’t matter if—”

“it does to me!”

“hey, there are two people in this relationship, you know.”

“yeah, an‘ one of ’em feels like right shit on what’s meant to be the greatest tour of his life! doesn’t that mean anythin‘ to you?”

“of course it does, i just—”

“really? ’cause y’could’ve fooled me, love.”

“harry, i swear, if you interrupt me one more time, i’m booking the next flight home.” 

… tour had been going really well for harry! he was playing back to back sold out shows in some of the biggest cities in the world, with adoring fans lining up by the thousands, itching to hear him sing live. he’d already had some really sweet interactions on stage, and no crazy mishaps had occurred (he was especially proud of himself for having ensured everyone’s safety so far). just in the last week alone, he’d been nominated for three different awards for his newest album and performances. anyone could see that he was living a dream— the dream, really. the kind that only comes true once in a blue moon. 

and yet… tour had been going really poorly for harry. now, he doesn’t like to complain about much; he knows just how fortunate he is, and actively tries to see the bigger picture when frustrated. but it was really hard to zoom out of his particular situation when he was so zeroed in on a particular aspect that had been bugging him for weeks— y/n. 

don’t get him wrong! y/n herself wasn’t what was bothering him. it was more so her presence, and his… lack thereof. 

if there’s one thing harry prides himself on more than anything, it’s being an attentive lover— even in the most innocent and platonic of ways. he tries his absolute hardest to be a supportive brother, a considerate son, a (hopefully) decent role model to those who look up to him, and especially a present, loving boyfriend. and for the most part, he’s just as successful in those aspects as he is in his career. in fact, y/n regularly speaks of how harry treats her like she hangs the stars in the sky just for him, how he makes her feel like the most special girl in the world. 

but this tour was taking its toll, and harry was taking it out on y/n. he’s never been great at communicating everything in the most positive of ways— that’s where he turns to songwriting— and he’d let his emotions get the better of him after letting them build up for the past couple of weeks. he wasn’t proud of himself, but he needed an outlet. 

harry didn’t mean to start the fight. but when y/n asked him where he’d been after a last minute management meeting following that night’s show kept him an extra half hour later than he said he’d be, it was like all the frustration just erupted. inadequacy is one of his least favorite feelings (next to loneliness), and being a barely-there or only-sometimes-there boyfriend couldn’t be more of a trigger for that particular emotion. 

now here they were, vexation filling the tour bus around them like a fog they could barely see through, inhaling it with every breath and releasing it back into the atmosphere surrounding them. harry huffed out a sigh, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he angrily looked out the window of the tour bus to distract himself for a moment, having to mentally step away from the argument at hand, even if just for a few seconds. watching as the dark streets outside shined with the headlights of other vehicles, he found himself wishing he were in one of them. it would be nice to be in a car alone, nothing but his thoughts and some music to keep him company. 

but he had real company. she was standing not six feet away from him, emulating his defensive position with her arms drawn across her own chest, jaw clenching and relaxing every other moment. when he finally turned to look at her again, he exhaled loudly. 

“we were crazy to think that this could work,” he mumbled, barely audible to y/n, but she was able to make it out. 

even when they fought, the girl seemed to be in sync with him, inhaling deeply, subconsciously countering his previous expulsion of breath. the yin to his yang.

“what are you talking about?”

harry groaned at her words. how didn’t she get this? “y/n, i’m never around! i wake up when you’re still asleep, prepare for the day, go to the venue, help set up the stage, sound check, rehearse a bit, and then ’m off t’go get ready for a show that lasts two hours. almost each night! i come back exhausted and aching to sleep! where d’you see yourself fitting in there?”

when y/n realized it was her turn to speak again, she said, “first off, do you think you could please calm down a little? i can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

his eyes narrowed. “like what?”

“when you’re acting like a child, harry! i mean, for god’s sake, i’m not nine! i can handle hanging out on my own for a few days at a time and just getting to cuddle with you at night until you have a day off. it’s not like i don’t have things to do throughout the day, too.”

while harry tended to say things he didn’t exactly believe in the heat of the moment, y/n meant every word she uttered. she really was content relaxing in the tour bus or a hotel room taking care of work on her laptop, catching up on new episodes of her favorite shows, or even going out to explore whatever new city they were in by herself. harry had breaks between show days once or twice a week, and the thought of having those days to themselves was enough to sate her desire to spend time with him. it annoyed her that he didn’t understand that, as she’d never been the clingy type and was always very self-sufficient. 

“oh, i’m acting like a child, am i? right, i didn’t realize that wanting t’be present in my relationship with my girlfriend was childish, but hey, you learn something new every day, i s’pose.” 

oh, y/n was really starting to seethe now. letting her arms fall to her sides with a frustrated puff, she began again. 

“god, harry, you’re not childish for wanting to spend time together! i’m saying you need to realize that i’m perfectly capable of waiting for your days off to really spend time with you. you’re acting like we can’t function without each other!”

“the whole idea of you comin‘ on tour with me was to have this time together, y/n,” harry fired back. “if we’re barely going to get to see each other anyways, then what’s the bloody point?”

…

harry might have spoken too soon. at least, that’s what he thought as he laid overtop y/n on the tour bus couch, because now the point might very well be getting to just feel her lips on his every now and again. 

it was late; harry had just come back from a show. usually, he’s too tired to do anything but crash onto a cloud-like mattress after all the jumping around he does on that stage, but this time all he wanted was his girl. it’d started innocently enough, with harry pulling y/n into his lap on the worn, red leather of the couch. his hands roamed along her hips and down to her waist beneath her soft hoodie (which wasn’t even technically her’s, but is it really theft if harry just leaves his clothes lying around for her to nab?), exploring the soft expanse of her skin, not straying any lower. her own hands were hidden in his curls, lightly scratching at his scalp in what she hoped were soothing motions. 

harry knew he was done for once he initiated the kiss. tentative at first, he pressed light pecks along the corner of her mouth, quick and feathery, like he didn’t really care if he got to kiss her so much as he got to hold her, or simply be with her. but soon, the eagerness set in, like he wasn’t sure when the next time he’d get to have her was, and suddenly he was capturing her mouth with his own, barely giving her a chance to breathe as he tasted her. while harry never really believed in a higher power, he could have sworn he found religion in her lips. 

things only escalated from there. it wasn’t long before harry was wrapping his muscular arms around y/n, so tight that he accidentally squeezed too hard, earning a squeak from the girl. he muttered a hushed but sincere “’m sorry, darling,” to compensate. one hand supported her head, the other splayed across her back as he laid her against the cushions so that he could keep loving on her on the way down. he relished her little whimpers that she tried so hard to suppress, grinning against her jawbone, her neck, any skin he came across on his journey south to more pressing territory. 

harry didn’t bother removing y/n’s hoodie, opting instead to push it up past her naval in favor of gaining access to the waistband of her fluffy sleep shorts. he felt her hands tighten their grip ever so slightly on his shoulders as he hooked his fingers under it, relaxing again when he rubbed the pad of his thumb delicately along her hipbone, reminding her it was only him. 

it was a thing with y/n. she loved harry, of course she did, and she trusted him more than anyone. and maybe it was the way she was brought up, or perhaps a few poor experiences with sexual partners in the past, but there was always a fleeting moment of anxiety before shedding the clothing barrier before sex. like dipping a toe into a cold lake and hesitating a little, then ultimately deciding that jumping in wouldn’t be so bad. 

harry never pried. the first few times they’d slept together, he noticed her nerves, and asked her if she was sure she wanted to continue. y/n had said yes each time, and after a while, he stopped asking. but still, whenever he noticed that brief nervous shift, harry gave her a chance to change her mind. 

this time, he bided his time by sponging tender kisses right above where his fingers were still half hidden under her shorts. he wanted her to feel safe, and taken care of, and he hoped his gentle touches and even breathing could remedy her anxiety. as he waited, harry’s mind drifted…. he was getting lost in the feel of her soft skin, its dips and curves and blemishes. he thought about her waist, how his hands fit so perfectly against its sides; her tummy, and how the muscles there jolted when he tickled them; and her hips… god, if y/n’s body was a church, her hips could be the altar. harry was ready to say a prayer right then, thanking every higher power for blessing him with this gorgeous girl—

“harry?” his love’s melodic voice interrupted his thoughts, and harry’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, his nose continuing to skim just above her navel. “um… you can keep going. please.” 

the corner of harry’s mouth quirked upward, and y/n could have sworn she caught a glimpse of mischief in the jade of his irises, but it was gone in an instant, as he wasted no time in stripping her of her bottoms.

…

“god, h-harry,” panted y/n, her grip on his curls constricting with every lick to her core, “’s so good, oh—”

“would feel even better if y’stopped trying t’run away from me, wouldn’t it? don’t wanna have to tie you down.”

y/n couldn’t help it! it wasn’t her fault if harry’s tongue was just too good and her body’s natural reaction was to attempt to escape his grip for a little relief. if anything, he should be happy— they’d been at this for so long y/n lost count of the minutes, and after two toe-curling orgasms, one would think harry’s jaw could use a break. 

but that thought flew out the window when y/n remembered who she was metaphorically in bed with. 

“’m sorry…,” she whimpered, gripping the side of the couch cushion as her eyes squeezed shut.

“don‘ have to be sorry, darling,” harry mumbled against her folds, chin glistening with her arousal as he placed a soft kiss to y/n’s clit, making her jolt in his hold. he breathed a short laugh, adjusting his arms so that one held her upper thigh next to his head, while the other pinned her hips to the red leather, restricting her ability to move. “jus’ wanna make you feel as good as possible, is all. will y’let me?”

harry turned his head, nipping at the inside of the girl’s thigh, and she gasped at the brief assault on the softest skin of her body, now adorning the mark of his front teeth that she loved so much. she shuddered a breath as best she could, and harry could tell by the way her knuckles were turning white in their grip on the couch that she was trying her best to be good. feeling a twinge of guilt, he figured maybe he should offer her a second to breathe. y/n opened her eyes when she felt harry’s lips retreat from her aching cunt and the weight of his head rest against the love bite. 

“hey.”

y/n cast her gaze down upon the boy (who looked far too innocent, considering what they were doing) with his cheek laid on her inner thigh, stray hairs tickling her just a tad. playfulness swam in his eyes, but there was an underlying current of concern. 

“doin‘ okay?”

she nodded, gulping. harry noticed. 

“because we can take a break if you want to. just say the word, okay?”

“i will, i-i promise. but… can you please keep going?”

that was all he needed to get right back into it, only with even more fervor than before. when y/n reached her third and final peak of the night, her whole body shook, and harry had the pleasure of getting to watch as he helped her ride out her high. he almost came in his pants, rutting his hips into the sofa, moaning against her core, begging her give it t’me, love, that’s it.

harry pulled back when she started pushing at his head, whining for relief as he gave one final lap at her core. he grinned at her fucked-out figure as he wiped his face on his forearm, then took her hand that had been grasping at the cushion in one of his, bringing the back of it to his lips for a gentle kiss. 

“feel all right, baby?”

“mhm,” she hummed between heaving breaths, glancing at what she assumed could only be a quite painful stiffy between his legs as he sat up, “do you?”

harry followed her line of vision, offering her a chuckle and an i’m fine, using his free hand to smooth his thumb along her brow. before he could even register it, her palm slipped from the grip of his other hand and traveled down to rub against the bulge in his pants, earning a sharp hiss from her boyfriend and a deep groan soon after. 

“why don’t you let me repay the favor?”

…

harry was pretty sure y/n was asleep. if she wasn’t, she was definitely on the verge— her breaths were deep and even as she laid in his hold, her head on his chest, ear pressed overtop his steadily beating heart. and who could blame her? the evening’s activities had worn her out, which meant harry had done his job properly. he was more than happy to be wide awake, running his fingertips up and down her arm, inhaling the sweet scent of her fruity body wash while she dreamt if it meant she was rested and content and happy. 

moments like these made harry think they could get away with it. the long hours spent apart, the hectic schedules, the fighting. sure, it was tough, and yes, they both had a temper that rivaled one another’s for the ‘least amount of patience award’ on any given day. but every missing ounce of patience was compensated by double its weight in love. they loved one another enough to make it work. 

they could make this work. 

right?

…

“jesus, harry, how do you think that makes me feel? you’d honestly rather i not be here? are you actually that insecure?”

“c’mon, y/n, you know tha’s not what i meant.”

y/n felt like they were going around in circles, having the same fight over and over again. only this time, the couple found themselves in a beautiful hotel room, with a beautiful view overlooking a beautiful city. and instead of getting to enjoy it, y/n was glaring at harry though the vanity mirror, his back facing her as he tamed his wild curls for tonight’s show… which he had to leave for in just a few short minutes. 

the balled up fist on y/n’s hip flew up to her face, fingers flexing to pinch at the bridge of her nose as her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. 

“i can’t believe this. i dropped everything to be here with you— to support you on the most incredible tour of your career— and instead of being happy i’m here as opposed to the alternative of thousands of miles away in a different time zone for months, you’re sitting here bitching about being too tired?” 

harry sighed deeply, only infuriating y/n more. “you’re missing the point. ’s not that i don’t want you here, or just that ’m too tired. ’s knowing you’re sitting around by yourself, waiting on me while ’m working, when you could be out with friends and family, or sleeping in the comfort of your own bed—”

“that you’re not in!” the girl loudly interjected— how didn’t he get this? “i put all those things aside for us, har. it’s not like i’m leaving my life behind for years. christ’s sake, the tour is over in two months! but somehow, being away from my home and routine is easier than being in the same room as you right now.”

harry contemplated his next words carefully, turning them over in his head a few times and editing any obvious mistakes, leaving the pair of them to marinate in suffocating silence for a good ten or so seconds before he finally spoke. 

“y/n… i can’t be a good boyfriend and a serious artist simultaneously, okay? not while ’m on tour. i can’t keep losing sleep over how well i’m balancing—”

“okay, you know what, harry? you know what? maybe you should just leave me, then. wouldn’t that be easier? you’d be able to sleep better at night, right?”

they both knew she didn’t mean it, though harry couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt to hear. but she was pissed, and harry knew better than to try to reason with her when she was like this. 

when she realized he wasn’t going to respond, instead electing to stare brokenly into the mirror, she continued. “you know damn well how hard i work for this relationship. i’ve flown across the oceans that have separated us, driven for hours just to get to see you for, like, one— hell, i’ve skipped some of my most important classes so we could go to shitty dive bars in the middle of the day together! yeah, remember that? i love you, okay? people who love each other are supposed to be grateful for any time they have together at all, no matter if it’s every day or once a year.”

y/n took a breath, finally cooling down after her heated rant. she took a moment to take in the sight of her boyfriend, dressed so vibrantly, feeling anything but. 

“they warned us about times like this,” the defeated tone of y/n’s whisper was enough to finally get harry to say something. 

“what was that, love?”

the girl swallowed the little saliva in her mouth before speaking up a mere decibel. “remember what my parents said? ‘the road gets hard, and you get lost when you’re led by blind faith,’” she imitated her father’s deep voice, and if not for the circumstances, harry might’ve laughed. 

they weren’t lost, were they?

…

if there was such a thing as heaven on earth, y/n is pretty sure she’s been there. in fact, she goes there whenever harry so much as touches her. 

when he kisses her shin as they lay watching a movie together on the couch, pulling her leg up off his lap and craning his neck downward to meet it in the middle. when he runs his fingers down the bridge of her nose, making an exaggerated boop! noise once he reaches the tip, gently pressing against it like a doorbell. and especially when he has her like this. 

harry’s arms felt secure wrapped around y/n’s torso, her hips moving back and forth atop his own. the feeling of his cock twitching and shifting inside her while her nipples rub deliciously along his chest made her dizzy, like she had just gotten off a loopy rollercoaster. harry’s back arched just slightly off the plush mattress of their hotel suite’s bed when y/n gave a little bounce, arms constricting around her and forcing a pleased sigh to fall from her lips. 

the girl hid her face in the crook of his neck, and harry could feel each and every hot breath against his skin. lost in pleasure, he let his large hands migrate from her hips down to her bum, where he gave a small pinch to the flesh, eliciting a yelp and a small jolt from y/n. 

“sorry, baby,” he laughed, “couldn’t help m’self.” harry gently flattened his palm against the now tender skin, rubbing there softly in an attempt to soothe the little ache he left. when he felt satisfied, he shifted to rubbing between her shoulder blades instead, his other arm still wrapped around her lower back as she returned to her previous rhythm above him. 

y/n could tell harry was enjoying himself. his groans alone were evidence enough, not to mention the little utterances of “shit, darling,” and “so good t’me,” he frequently let slip. but perhaps he just needed a bit more to reach his high, because without warning his hands were on her thighs, gripping tightly as he began to thrust upwards into her at a much quicker pace than she had originally set— it had her seeing stars in a matter of mere seconds. 

“oh, god— harry,” y/n gasped out, gripping the edge of the plush pillow by harry’s ear. she could feel him hitting that special spot inside her with every snap of his hips, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling back into her head, muscles tightening all throughout her body. 

“almost there, angel… just…,” harry’s thrusts began to slow, becoming more deliberate, and now he was moving her hips to grind against his each time they met, sending y/n over the edge. 

y/n’s moans were long and drawn out as she came, body spasms making her hold on more tightly to harry for stability. she didn’t even hear him finish, too busy reveling in the euphoric feeling of cumming in his arms, surrounded by warmth and love and feeling the safest she had in a long while. 

it was moments like these where y/n couldn’t fathom how she’s ever been upset with harry. he was perfect, lying here under her unsteady body, breathing deeply not only to catch his breath, but to take in the smell of her. she wanted this for eternity. and if this was heaven, then surely hell was when they fought with each other. 

…

y/n thought she was dreaming at first, not used to being roused from her slumber by anything other than her well-timed alarm and the occasional bark of a dog on a nearby street. she expected that after blinking the sleep from her eyes a few times, the vague image of her favorite boy would dissipate, and she’d fall back into the comfort of her warm pillow. but when she squeezed them shut once, then twice, and her boyfriend’s face was still a foot away from her’s, brushing his fingertips up her nose and along her brow, she set aside her exhaustion in exchange for confusion.

now, harry knew better than to wake y/n up. in most circumstances, she’d tell him off, or gently kick at him to get him to leave her alone. he found it rather endearing, and it’s one of the reasons he’s so protective of her in her sleep— always holding her close to keep her safe, shielding her eyes from any light intruding on the space she lay, making sure both their phones were set to ‘do not disturb.’ but he had to make an exception, just this once. 

“darling,” she barely registered his whisper, “wake up f’me, please?”

a whine fell from y/n’s lips, her eyes scrunching shut as she turned her body away from him, which harry knew was code for let me sleep, for fuck’s sake! a smile graced his lips at the action, jotting down a mental note to make this up to her later. 

compensating for the newfound distance between them, harry scooted closer to her. he kneeled on the floor next to the bed, close to the pillows she rested upon. he laid one arm against the mattress, perching his chin on the back of his wrist. using his free hand, he continued to brush his fingertips lightly against his love’s cheek, her jaw— all along her face, really. god, her loves her face so much.  

“please, baby?”

harry had just come back from one of his best performances yet— the crowd’s energy was unmatched, the chemistry between him and his band members was palpable, and he’d managed to not get hit with any flying objects all night! but what really did it for him was the fan project he was surprised with at the end of the show. thousands of people in the room wore light-up bracelets that shone pink and blue during one of his favorite songs, ‘love of my life.’ if harry’s heart had been any more full in that moment, it might’ve exploded right there in his chest. 

he had been on cloud nine for a moment. but soon, realization washed over him in a way that squeezed at his lungs, stealing his breath for a second. the love of his life was somewhere miles away, probably sitting in their hotel room watching a comfort film, oblivious to anything he was feeling on that stage. he just wanted to go home to her and gush about what had happened, and how he wished she’d been there, and how it made so much sense that it would happen during ‘love of my life’ because it was the perfect representation of the amount of love he had for his, and how if she’d have been there, he would have looked directly at her and smiled the whole time. 

it made him realize how bloody stupid he was.

in retrospect, the conversation he’d needlessly just woken y/n up for could have waited until morning. but then harry wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he didn’t tell her he was sorry right away. 

a groan sounded through the room, followed by the ruffling of bedsheets as the girl turned back over to glare annoyedly at harry. he let out a soft laugh at her behavior. 

“’m sorry, baby. know you jus‘ wanna sleep right now, but ’s it okay if we talk for a mo‘?”

“now?” y/n asked in a gravelly voice.

“now, m‘ love.”

with a soft sigh, she relented, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her knuckles. harry caught the motion, bringing his hands up to pull hers away from her face. he didn’t like when y/n did that, as she always managed to do it too roughly. instead, he held her smaller hands in his own, getting up to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. 

“what is it?” y/n asked through a yawn. harry looked at her for a moment— really looked at her— before responding.

“i’m sorry.”

it took her a moment to register his words. “for waking me up?”

harry laughed that dreamy laugh she loved so much, and it almost made up for the fact that she was up at twelve thirty in the morning. “no, y’little minx. not for that. well, yes, for that, but that’s not what i meant.”

“what are you sorry for, then?” 

harry looked at her with an expression y/n couldn’t place. it look him a few beats to speak. “i… i’m sorry i was such a prick before. i love that you’re here, an‘ that i get t’see you when i’m off. know you put aside a lot for this, an‘ i ruined it with m’own problems. didn’t mean to.”

y/n’s features softened at the boy’s sincerity, and if it weren’t for the warmth his hands encapsulating hers provided, she’d have reached out and held his face, peppering kisses over every dip and curve. 

“i know you didn’t…. i’m sorry, too.”

“for what?”

“i should’ve listened better. you were trying to tell me how you felt and i just disregarded it. that wasn’t very nice of me, either.”

the right corner of harry’s lips tugged upwards, morphing his mouth into that little half-grin y/n adored so much. “think we can get past it, darling?”

the girl scooted forward the tiniest bit, harry’s magnetic pull too hard to resist. though they were the only two in the room, she whispered, “i’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” harry liked how she made something so simple sound like a secret deal between them.

harry’s half-smile quickly quirked up, completing itself, and y/n swooned over his dimples and adorable bunny teeth. a short and quiet breath of a laugh fell past his lips, and for a moment, he just looked at her. but his gaze caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes, and his grin faltered a bit. 

y/n was always good at hiding her true emotions when she wanted to. not when it really mattered, don’t get her wrong— she wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit. but at dinner with her parents or meetings at work, she was able to pretend she wasn’t exhausted or annoyed. it never worked with harry, though. he could read and understand her like his own lyrics, and tonight was no exception. he saw through the mask of humor at her uncertainty, and a pang of guilt bloomed in his chest. 

he let out a sigh as he beckoned her forward by gently tugging her hands, still in his, toward him. “c’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling his love into his lap. y/n curled into him, knees tucked upward into her chest as his strong arms found purchase around her frame, holding her tenderly but securely. one of harry’s large hands held the back of her head against him, her ear right over his heart, listening to it beat for her. 

“love you like crazy. you’ve no idea.” he peppered light kisses to the top of her head, so softly she might’ve missed one or two. “thank you for comin‘ an‘ s’porting me. means the world, honestly.” 

“i’m happy to be anywhere with you, har,” she replied in a voice honey-thick with sleep. “even if it’s just for a few minutes. always so happy to have you.”

harry closed his eyes, laying back into the pillows, bringing y/n down with him so that she was laying overtop his sturdy body, inhaling his every exhale. 

“you have me,” he said, though he was almost certain she didn’t hear him, likely already pulled into the void of sleep, drawn in by the comfort of harry’s arms, his smell, him. 

“you’ll always have me.”

taglist (final time using the old one, see new link in bio): @fahsey @caswinchester2000 @lmaotshollandd @jackiehollanderr @nervousdadmode @amii-nyc @skitmix @auggie2000 @voguesir @yourgoldengirls @hunnybunimdun @lolooo22 @atoris-fantasy

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Remind Me - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw is one hell of an aviator. He's one of the best at what he does. You only wish the same could be said of his performance as your husband.

A/N: this is my first real attempt at angst but I ended up making it smutty and fluffy as well so there's that. I was inspired and got a little carried away. Inspired by Remind Me by Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x wife!reader

content/warnings: angst, allusions to cheating, allusions to divorce, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), breeding kink if you squint, praise kink, Bradley being an unattentive husband bc he's clueless, fluffy ending.

word count: 4.6k

"Been so long that you'd forget, the way I used to kiss your neck Remind me, remind me So on fire, so in love, way back when we couldn't get enough Remind me, remind me"

You pulled into the driveway of your beachfront home, the salty Californian breeze encompassing you as you turned the key in the front door, a bag of groceries nestled on your hip as you pushed the door open. A deafening silence came over you as you walked through the entryway, and you noticed that your husband, Bradley, was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t unusual for Bradley to fall asleep in front of the tv on a Sunday afternoon, the drone of sports commentary providing a backdrop to his nap, a neglected bottle of beer warming on the coffee table, condensation tracing its descent down the amber glass. However, today, the usual harmonic sounds of Sportscenter and Bradley's gentle snores was conspicuously absent, replaced by an eerie quiet that settled around you like a heavy blanket, an empty couch, and a note on your kitchen counter - Bradley’s idea of conveying information that wasn’t life or death - scribbled in his distinct, masculine penmanship. 

“Hey beautiful, be back soon, out for golf and beers with the boys - B.” 

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his predictable escapades, a mixture of annoyance and resignation washing over you. You let out a long huff as you set the groceries down on the counter, the rustle of paper bags echoing in the stillness of the kitchen. As you meticulously organized the contents into the fridge and pantry, your gaze fell upon the neglected stack of dirty dishes occupying the sink. Their number seemed to have multiplied since the previous night, despite Bradley’s assurances that he would take care of them. You had even reminded him earlier that morning, amidst sips of your morning coffee, only to receive a distracted hum and a vague nod as he scrolled through his phone, his attention elsewhere. This wasn’t anything new for you - Bradley often had a single tracked mind, unable to focus his attention on more than one thing at a time when he wasn’t in the cockpit of a plane, but lately, it felt like every conversation you tried to invoke was one-sided, with Bradley giving little more than a half-hearted “mhmm” in response, regardless of the topic.

As you closed the fridge, you noticed that your dry-erase calendar had a new date encircled in pink, with Bradley’s unmistakeable writing on display in the center. 

“Mission: 3 wks?” 

“Of course you have another fucking mission,” you grumbled to yourself, shaking your head.

The realization hit you like a freight train, slamming into your heart with a pang of unfairness. Bradley's profession demanded his constant departure and return, but the frequency of his missions seemed almost cruel, especially considering the fleeting moments of bliss you shared during his brief stints at home. Six weeks had barely passed since his last return, yet it felt as if his presence was unchanged from the way it had been when he was gone.

Between rigorous training sessions and endless briefings, Bradley sought solace in the camaraderie of his buddies – Jake, Reuben, and Mickey – the trio of bachelors who seemed to relish in their freedom. Their escapades ranged from impromptu drinks to leisurely rounds at the driving range, filled with a sense of masculinity and adventure that Bradley found himself longing to be a part of. Approaching the dreaded milestone of forty, he yearned for the carefree attitude he held in his youth, reminiscing about the exhilarating escapades of his twenties and earlier thirties - ending right around 36 years old when he met you.

In a bid to reclaim some form of that lost spontaneity, Bradley had tentatively ventured into his friends realm, seeking companionship in their revelries. Initially relegated to the role of designated driver, his latent talent for piano and penchant for serenading transformed him into the life of the party. What started as a sporadic outing soon morphed into a monthly ritual, then gradually escalated into a seemingly incessant cycle where every day not spent on base was dedicated to partying it up with "the boys"

As you sank into the welcoming embrace of the couch, enveloped by its plush cushions, a sense of desolation washed over you like a tidal wave. Clutching a pint-sized tub of ice cream to your chest, you sought solace in the flickering glow of the television, scanning through channels in a futile attempt to distract yourself from the gnawing ache within until Bradley came home. Settling on a marathon of romantic comedies on one of the dozens of channels that seem to play nothing but movies and reruns of old sitcoms, you blinked back tears as you watched the romance unfold on tv, all while feeling like your own was slowly dying.

It was three and a half hours later when Bradley finally came clattering through the door, a couple beers deep. You heard him clumsily kick his deck shoes off at the door, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood flooring as he walked down the hall with heavy steps. You did your best to ignore him, wanting to make it clear that you were upset, but not having the fight in you after three and a half hours of crying into a carton of chocolate peanut butter ice cream over Katherine Heigl and James Marsden and Reese Witherspoon and Josh Lucas and their romantic gestures, tender embraces and declarations of love and happily ever afters. You fixed your eyes on the tv as you caught sight of Bradley from the corner of your eye, his fluorescent pink golf shirt almost impossible to ignore. 

As Bradley's voice echoed through the living room, infused with a hint of playful banter, you felt a pang of resignation tugging at your heartstrings. His honeyed drawl, his sun-kissed glow and his almost blonde highlights cascading through his curls, created a striking contrast against the solemnity that enveloped the room. With sunglasses perched atop his head like a crown, Bradley sauntered into view, his caramel-colored eyes scanning the scene before him with a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Hey honey! When’d you get home? You watchin’ one of those chick flicks?”, he spoke with a playful tone, an underlying hint of apprehension lingering in the air. 

Ignoring his inquiry, you remained in your silence, your gaze fixed upon the flickering images on the television screen. Bradley's brow furrowed, the lines etching across his forehead as he searched for a clue amidst the sea of your emotions.

“Aw, I don’t mean chick flick in a bad way, baby, I’m just teasin’”, he continued, his voice laced with a soft plea for understanding. “Some of them aren’t so bad, you know, I like a couple of ‘em.” 

When he was once again met with silence, Bradley took a couple of steps closer to where you lay on the couch, moving his tall, six-foot-three, athletic frame into your line of view. You continued to focus on the tv, finding it nearly impossible to ignore the neon hue of Bradley’s polo shirt now, noticing how he’d paired it with a basic pair of khaki shorts and his Ray-Ban aviators that he never left home without. He knit his brows together as he watched you, his eyes wafting over to the now empty ice cream tub with a single spoon sitting inside, resting on the coffee table. He hummed softly - something he often did when he was trying to think, as a confused look started forming on his face.

“Baby, come on, what’s bothering ya?” He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, “Did I do somethin’? ‘Cause if I did, I’m sorry for whatever it is.”

“You aren’t,” you finally responded, not breaking eye contact with Ryan Gosling as he appeared on the tv. 

“I’m not what, babe?”

“Sorry. You’re not sorry. You never are sorry.”

“Honey, I’m not following ya.”

You huffed and shook your head as you sat up on the couch, wiping your eyes as you felt the hot tears stinging them once again as they threatened to make a return. A raw aching feeling built up within you as you took a deep breath, preparing to have the conversation you’d been dreading for who-knows-how-long. You looked down at your wedding band for a moment, the sight of it nearly enough to trigger painful sobs as you braced yourself for what was about to transpire between you and your husband.

“You’re not sorry. You’re never home because you choose to never be home. You’re not sorry for it. It’s like you don’t want to be around me, Bradley,” you started slowly, shaking your head as the tears began to fall.

“Baby, hang on-” Bradley begins before you cut him off. 

“Look, Bradley, if you’re unhappy-”

“Unhappy? Baby, no, I could never be unhappy with you, what are you talking about?” Bradley cooed, kneeling down beside the couch as he brushed your hair behind your ear in a tender gesture to ermphasize his point.

“Are you seeing other women when you go out with the guys?” You say bluntly, giving Bradley a stare that practically burns right through him.

“What?! Honey, I think you’re getting the wrong idea here.”

“It’s really not that far-fetched, Bradley. You’re always wanting to go out with your only single friends, you constantly go out to play wingman with them at bars to help them get laid, then when you’re home, you never listen to me, it’s like I may as well be talking to myself most of the time. I only seem to see you if you’re hungry or asleep and that’s only because you can’t boil water to save your life and our bed is the only one in the house that always has clean sheets on it.”

“Babe, I don’t know who the fuck you think you married-” Bradley protested.

“Oh, really? Mr. “Didn’t-get-married-until-he-was-38-because-he-liked-picking-up-girls-in-bars-better? Wasn’t it because that was more convenient for you? Because then you’d never have a “little lady back home to worry about” whenever you went away?”

“That was before I met you, the minute I met you, I stopped wanting to do any of that bullshit. Our first date, I knew I wanted to marry you, honey.”

“That doesn’t mean that’s how you feel now, does it?! I mean, Christ’s sake, Bradley, when was the last time you even kissed me?! Let alone had sex with me, for fuck’s sake. I thought you wanted to try having kids soon once you got your promotion settled,” you said as your voice cracked, shaking your head. 

“Honey, please,” Bradley began pleading, shaking his head. 

You abruptly stood up from the couch, walking away from him and heading towards the kitchen. You opened the fridge, conveniently using the door to block Bradley from your sight, your anger towards him boiling towards the edge now. You grabbed yourself a drink and cracked the top off with the bottle opener, slamming the fridge door shut. Bradley held his hands up in defense as he looked at you, an expression of complete astoundment on his face.

“Baby, I may not be the smartest man out there, but I’m not unfaithful, you know that. I know you know that deep down.” 

“Bradley, I don’t know what I know anymore. I used to know that you loved me too, but that doesn’t seem to hold true.”

“What are you talking about?! Honey, you know that I love you.”

“Do I?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Sweetheart, I’ve never loved anyone like I do you. I know showing it isn’t my strong suit - I never got to see much of an example other than pictures of my folks, but I know damn well that I look at you the same way my dad looked at my mom. And I know that I’ve never, in the four years since we started dating, ever, as much as entertained the idea of being with another woman. I married you. Remember? You were there. Better or worse, sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part, all that?”

“It’s pretty easy to vow to love someone for better or for worse when you’re never fucking around, isn’t it, Bradley?!”

“Well forgive me for fighting for our fucking country, Honey. What, you want me to just walk away from my duty?”

“Your country and your boys come before your wife, do you not see how fucked up that is?”

“You come first, always. I work as hard as I do at work for you. I try to work my ass off to get promotions and be leader on missions so I can make sure you’re taken care of. So that if anything ever happened to me, you’d be set, you’d never have to worry about a thing.”

“I don’t want that! I want you. You could pump gas for a living or be a lifeguard on the beach for all I fucking care. All I know is, the man I married isn’t here anymore, and I don’t know where he went or why.”

Bradley shook his head angrily and scoffed. His face began to turn red as he narrowed his eyes, beginning to talk with his hands. 

“I’m the same fucking guy! Babe, is this seriously because I went golfing this afternoon?”

“No, Bradley, it’s because you’ve been home for six weeks and you haven’t as much as kissed me since you got home off the last mission, and I just saw that you put a new three week one on the calendar. You leave in 10 days and you didn’t even tell me! What, were you just going to fuck off and go when it came and not say a word?”

An awkward hush fell over the two of you, echoing throughout the house. Bradley looked to his feet, remaining quiet as he shook his head. He sighed loudly and pressed his hand to his forehead before looking up at you again. 

“Honey, believe me, I only found out this morning, I was going to tell you…but,” He frowns as he realizes why he didn’t tell you. “But then Jake called, and I wanted to blow off steam about it, so I agreed to hit a few holes with him. But, Baby, I swear to you, I am the exact same Lieutenant Bradshaw who asked you out on a date four years ago. Remember? I almost missed a briefing just to talk to you. Nearly got my ass in trouble for it, but you were worth every second.”

You looked up at Bradley, sinking your top teeth into your bottom lip as you shook your head, almost in disbelief as you remembered how you and Bradley had met. 

You were visiting Coronado for the day, your first trip over the San Diego Bay since moving to the city from Colorado Springs. The sun had been shining as you strolled through the picturesque town on the Pacific coast. Bradley had been walking up to one of the dozens of restaurants that scattered the main strip for lunch with a couple of his comrades, dressed in his khaki uniform as he waited in line for his food, his tanned skin and broad shoulders catching your eye almost immediately. He flashed a smile at you, and in that moment, you’d managed to forget your own name, completely entranced by the man in front of you. 

From there, Bradley had asked you to sit with him for lunch, leaving his friends behind at a nearby picnic table. The two of you had so much fun simply talking that he didn’t realize the time, or that his friends had already left, and that he had to be back on base for a briefing in 10 minutes. He’d quickly exchanged numbers with you and practically sprinted back to his car - a 1972 Ford Bronco in pristine condition, something you remembered about him immediately, a detail you’d found yourself looking for on your outings in the downtown core of San Diego, in case he’d made the trip to your side of the bridge for some reason. 

A week later you were on a second date, and from there, your relationship became official soon after, with a marriage proposal happening on your first anniversary when Bradley arrived home from a mission. He saw you waiting for him on base, standing there in a pale blue sundress, looking even more beautiful than he’d remembered when he left a few weeks prior. He ran up to you, picking you up and swirling you around as he held you close, kissing you more passionately than he’d ever done before. No sooner than he put you back down, he dropped to one knee and asked you to be his wife, and you said yes, without an ounce of hesitation. 

“Bradley,” you sighed sadly, shaking your head as you looked up at him. 

“Honey, I swear to you, from the day that I asked you to sit down for lunch with me, I have never even looked at another woman. All I ever do for the guys when we go out is offer to talk to a girl on Jake’s behalf after he fucks it up and I have to go explain that his brain stopped maturing once he hit about age 15 when it comes to women. He thinks with his dick sometimes and gets his dumbass in trouble. I just go smooth it over so he doesn’t get a kick to the nuts or arrested for something stupid, like fighting some girl’s boyfriend.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Sweetheart, oh my God, you really thought I was cheating on you? What would any other woman have that you don’t? I’m just there babysitting Jake, and, I usually get a free beer and a plate of Buffalo wings out of the deal.”

“You...you do it for chicken wings?”

“I mean, I do it to hang out with my friends in situations where we’re not planning a mission or flying like our asses depend on it because we might not make it home otherwise.”

You nod your head slowly as everything suddenly starts making sense. It wasn’t that Bradley didn’t want to be with you, it was that he wanted some sense of normalcy with his friends, instead of what had become normal for them at work. You could appreciate it, even if Bradley was going about things the wrong way. 

“Can I show you something?” He said softly, cautiously reaching out to take you by the hand as you nodded your head.

Bradley pulled you in close to his body, wrapping you up in his strong arms and holding you in a passionate embrace as he kissed you with everything he had in him. His lips hungrily kissed at yours, his tongue flitting out to trace your bottom lip as you parted your mouth just so to allow him access. A soft, breathy moan escaped from your throat as you kissed Bradley, the passion overtaking you as he gently pulled away, still hovering above your mouth.

“I want to remind you how much I love you.”

Without another word, Bradley hoisted you up onto the counter, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you towards him. He knelt down in front of you, gently tapping your inner thigh with his hand as you parted your legs for him. Bradley pulled your comfy shorts down off your waist, dragging them down your legs before dropping them to the floor. He ducked his head down between your thighs as his hands rested on you, pulling you ever so slightly in towards him. His tongue licked a long, slow trail up your slit, eliciting a loud, breathy gasp from your lips. 

Bradley’s tongue began to work at you, licking and sucking at your sensitive clit as you tilted your head back. Your fingers raked their way into his curls, tugging gently on them as you guided his head in to your center, a whine leaving your lips as you felt him encircling it with his tongue, his touch delicate, yet passionate, as if he was making this his life’s work. You felt his tongue tracing shapes on you - letters, almost, and Bradley’s muffled voice had a tone of seduction to it as he spoke, his lips vibrating against your swollen, puffy cunt, sending a whole new sensation through you.

“Bradley!” You cried out, throwing your head forward to watch what he was doing, “I-I’m getting close, honey.”

Bradley looked up at you from under hooded lids as he watched your facial expressions, loving how your body was reacting to his touch. There was a newfound look of determination in his eyes as he slipped two of his long, slender fingers inside of you without breaking contact with his mouth. The feeling of his fingertips pressing into your sweet spot and his combination of licking and sucking at your clit like a man starved was enough to push you over the edge. Your legs began to quiver as you felt yourself approach your climax, screaming out Bradley’s name, making it the only sound that could be heard echoing through your empty house.

“Gonna explain what the fuck that new technique of yours is?” You panted as you came down from your euphoria, your head spinning as you stared at Bradley, who was wiping his chin with the back of his hand and sporting a look of pure pride.

“My wedding vows,” He shrugged, as if this was the most obvious explanation in the world.

“Your vows? You recited your vows?”

“Sure did, babygirl. Had to show you I remembered them somehow, figured that was better than me reciting them while bending you over the countertop. I’m not done convincing you just yet though.” 

He smirked, taking you by the hand as he helped you down off the counter. Bradley turned you around, your back facing him as he placed his firm, strong hand on you, guiding you as you bent over and rested your hands on the cold marble surface in front of you. You couldn’t help but grin to yourself as you realized your husband’s methods of making it up to you - he was never great with words, spoken apologies usually ended up coming out wrong, words getting tangled and twisted on his tongue, unable to string together a coherent sentence that held any meaning. However, what Bradley lacked in his communication, he made up for with his actions, doing whatever grandiose measure he could to make it up to you. 

Bradley’s broad hand stroked your back, running down to your ass as he gave it a playful squeeze. He let out a low groan as he undid his golf shorts, hurriedly kicking them off behind him. Bradley gave his cock a few quick strokes with his hand before running his tip along your dripping wet slit to tease you.

“Ready for me, Honey?” He purred, grinning as he watched you tense up as you felt him brush against your clit.

“Bradley, so help me, if you don’t stop teasing me-” your sentence was cut off abruptly as you felt Bradley buck his hips forward, pushing his length into your entrance. 

You whined as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate him, feeling full as he bottomed out inside of you, Bradley leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder as he gave you time to adjust. Bradley stood himself upright, lining his hips up with yours as he pulled back before giving a hard thrust forwards. He began pumping himself in and out of you, snapping his hips into a rhythm as he held your hips in place with his hands. Each thrust was sharp and calculated, hitting all the right places in perfect timing. There was one thing your husband prided himself on more than anything, and that was how well he made love to his wife. 

“That’s it, Honey, you look so pretty taking my cock like this,” Bradley hummed, his voice sultry and smooth as he praised you.

“Bradley, harder.” You commanded, whining as you felt an aching need for him to let you cum. 

Bradley began thrusting deeper into you, taking less care to be gentle with each movement. You felt your knees buckling with pleasure as he thrusted, and the sounds coming from both you and Bradley were beyond obscene, but in the best possible way. 

“Baby, I’m getting close,” He breathed, tilting his head back and panting. “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No!” You responded, clenching your thighs around him, in a more zealous response than you intended. “Need you, Bradley. I don’t care what happens. I need you.”

You could almost hear the change in tone from Bradley as soon as you spoke. Except, instead of killing the mood, like you’d anticipated, Bradley began fucking himself into you harder than before, almost desperate as he gripped your hips tightly. 

“You want me to fill you up, my pretty girl? Want me to cum in that tight little pussy of yours?” He husked, his body practically giving way to pleasure as he thought about it.

“Mhmm!” was all you could muster out of you as you nodded your head, feeling yourself reach your orgasm again, your walls clenching around him tightly.

“Fuck, Honey, you got it. Anything you want, Babygirl, I’ve got ya.” He babbled as he fell apart inside of you.

You placed your palms flat against the counter to hold yourself steady as Bradley’s thrusts became sloppier, slowing until they reached a gradual stop. He held his positon inside of you for a few moments while he caught his breath, almost too exhausted to move. As he pulled out, you let out a deep sigh, almost aching at the now emptiness in you. 

You finally got air back into your lungs as you stood upright, turning to face him as you leaned your back against the counter. Your gaze fell on Bradley, a blissful look of exhaustion on your face. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his curls now slightly dampened from a mixture of the Californian humidity and the passionately wild sex you’d just had. Bradley gave you a crooked grin as he gently put his arms around your waist, pulling you in close to him. 

“How was that for my apology? Or do you need me to do it again? ‘Cause if you give me like, an hour, I’ll go grab one of those Body whatever drinks Jake always has after a workout and I’ll be good to go for another round,” Bradley chuckled, stroking your hair.

“It was good, you’re forgiven. But,” you paused, grinning up at him as he raised an eyebrow at you. “I’d appreciate it if you spent a little more time with me. Maybe we could catch a ball game together, go for a road trip or something.”

“You know what? That sounds like a great idea. I’ve got tomorrow and the next day off. We could drive up to Malibu or something. Hell, Vegas is only four hours. May as well check that off our bucket list while we still can.”

“While we still can?” You cocked your head to the side, giving him an incredulous look.

“Well, you just begged me not to pull out…and if it’s alright by you, I’d kinda like to see what happens if we kept doing that,” Bradley said with a playful grin, laughing as he stroked your cheek.

“Oh, is that so?” You smirked, shaking your head at him. 

“Well, this road trip will give us four hours and a lot of desert to pull over in. You’ll get lots of chances to see what happens.” 

[justauthoring]

BLUE LOCK - COMING TO HIS GAME FOR THE FIRST TIME!

includes: bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin all x fem!reader

a/n: ill tell you what i cannot decide on a theme format to save my life :P

BACHIRA MEGURU:

He’s been asking you for a while.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but the timing had just never lined up.

Of course Bachira has never been anything but understanding; if there’s anyone who can understand how busy schedules can get, it’s him.

So, he’s never gotten mad or ever held it against you but you also aren’t oblivious to the way his shoulders deflate every time you have to tell him you can’t make it.

The hopeful light in his eyes washes away instantly and the forced smile on his lips does little to make you feel any less guilty -- even if rationally you knew it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t like making Bachira upset.

So, when it turned out his next game matched up with a day off, you were ecstatic. 

Except, you wanted to surprise him and so when he asked you, you said no again, this time regarding his frown and disappointment with excitement blooming in your chest in anticipation for how he’d look when you’d in fact be there, in the stands, cheering for him.

With Isagi’s help you’re able to borrow his extra jersey, making sure to wear it loud and proud when you make your way to the stands. Isagi had helped you get a seat nice and close to front, a spot that would be easy for Bachira to spot even in the midst of playing, surrounded by others, in a large field.

He’d see you.

And the second he walks out onto the field, mindlessly chatting to Isagi and Nagi, the former nudges his shoulder lightly before gesturing ahead of himself.

Bachira’s eyes lock onto you almost instantly.

It takes him no time whatsoever and the second he does, there’s a beaming smile curling onto his lips that practically lit up the whole arena. You can see the twinkle in his eyes as you move to your feet, waving your hands wildly and jumping up and down to make sure he can see you even if it’s already obvious he can.

Nagi teases him but Bachira hardly minds -- the sight of you at one of his games is something he’s been dreaming about for months and with the added fact that you’re wearing his jersey?

Bachira’s so happy he feels like nothing can stop him.

That point is further proved when he scores three goals all on his own, winning the game with his last goal.

He’s practically on fire.

Not a single person is able to stop Bachira that day, and every time he looks out into the crowd to find you, wearing his jersey and screaming his name -- his passion is renewed tenfold.

After that, you make sure to go to every single one of his games you possibly can, always clad in his jersey and screaming his name at the top of your lungs.

NAGI SEISHIRO:

He’s never really asked.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to come or thinks that you didn’t either, but he also felt like it’d be a hassle to ask and even more of one for you to go out of your way to come.

Nagi knows your busy and he doesn’t want to pressure you, so he just never asks.

But you’ve been waiting for him to ask.

At first you’d thought he was just shy or maybe uncomfortable with it, so you’d just left it alone, thinking that he’d eventually gather up the courage to ask you, especially when your guys’ relationship started to develop and turn more serious.

Then, when he still hadn’t asked months into your relationship, you tried dropping subtle comments -- dropping hints here and there with the intention to show to him you were curious on going.

You knew how big of a deal soccer was to Nagi, even if he tried to say otherwise. It was hard for Nagi to be passionate in anything so the effort and dedication he puts into his career is enough to know that he clearly cares, and you want him to share that with you.

You want to be there for him. Want to watch him do something he clearly loves so much.

It takes a year into your relationship for you to say something.

“Why don’t you want me to go to one of your games?”

Nagi? Confused.

“Huh?”

Turns out it was one big misunderstanding.

Once you learn it wasn’t that Nagi didn’t want you to come and rather he just didn’t want to be a hassle, and Nagi learned that you very much did want to go and it wouldn’t be a hassle at all -- the solution was easy.

He gets you a seat up close, almost secluded off to yourself and close enough to be able to watch Nagi easily the entire game.

He wants to say he’s embarrassed when you come adorned in his jersey and his number painted on your face, but he’d be lying if he said he was (even as his teammates tease him about it endlessly).

Truthfully, it makes his heart flutter and his chest feel tight at the fact that you’d put so much effort into coming to his game and making sure everyone knew who you were there for.

After that, Nagi practically drags you to every one of his games.

Doesn’t give you an option in it either. You’re coming.

Makes sure to point you out to his teammates even though they all know who you are.

“Y/N’s here, see? She’s the one in my jersey.”

“Yes, Nagi. I literally said hi to her earlier.”

Needless to say, Nagi loves having you there.

ITOSHI RIN:

Simply doesn’t think he needs you there.

If you came, he wouldn’t care and the fact that you don’t, he doesn’t care either.

Or so he thinks.

You know Rin well enough to know this so you don’t press it either way.

Rin likes to have his space and you’re happy enough to give it to him; you get to hear him talk about games afterwards anyways and it makes you happy that he chooses to share that part of his life with you so you just let things be.

Until a friend of yours mentions that she’s going to a game and has an extra ticket and “oh. Doesn’t your boyfriend play for T/N as well?”

So you join her.

Rin doesn’t even notice you until half way through the game when he receives a rather harsh shove from a teammate telling him he swears he just saw you in the stands.

He goes to deny it until he turns his head and sure enough, there you are in the midst of the crowd. You’re close enough to Rin to spot, but you’re in the midst of the stands, leaned over slightly as your friends whispers something into your ear.

You meet his eyes in the next second, offering a nervous smile and a wave.

Rin can’t explain it, he really can’t make senses of it--he’d always thought he didn’t really care about you being at one of his games. That, while he loved you, you’d be a distraction that he didn’t need.

But seeing you there? Knowing you’re watching him?

It feels like all he can feel is your eyes on him, even amongst the hundreds in the crowd, on him all game; following his every move, watching him. He can hear you cheering for him when he makes a goal or an impressive tactic. 

It enlightens something in him he hadn’t thought possible.

It isn’t just that you helped him do better -- that having you there made him play better. It was just the fact that you were there, watching him doing something he loved and was so so passionate about; cheering for him, simply there for him.

It’s a feeling Rin hadn’t thought he was capable of, but it isn’t something he wants to lose.

So next time there’s a game, he approaches you, a ticket in hand and his extra jersey in the other.

“I want you to come to my game... w-wearing this.”

You don’t hesitate to say yes, and that makes Rin’s heart flutter in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

Now he doesn’t even have to ask -- every time he has a game approaching, it’s a known fact and a wordless affair as he hands you a ticket and you beam up at him, all bright eyed and cheery saying you can’t wait.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Simon “Ghost” Riley w/ a Pregnant S/O

Warnings: AFAB Reader, pregnancy, minor spoilers of Ghost’s past, mentions of abuse, minor angst and reassurance, fluff, Ghost being protective

When you first told Ghost you were pregnant, he freaked out.

Reagardless of whether you'd been actively trying for a child or not, the fact that it was actually happening solidified to Simon that he was capable of living a normal, happy life, one that he is always worrying will end in some way.

Will take him a day or two to comprehend that you're both bringing a child into the world, but when he does, he's simultaneously fried with anxiety and overjoyed.

He may not show it, having been forced into and training himself to display stoicism at any given point, but he will begin planning well in advance.

Planning for what, you may ask?

Everything.

The safest area to move to (though you'll always be safe with Simon regardless of location), the best schools you can both afford, the type of house you'll live in.

He knows he's going to have to hide his masks when the kid's born.

There are certain parts of his past he doens't want them knowing; most of it, if he's honest.

He promises to be the best father he can.

Having come from an abusive household himself, Ghost would be hesitant to even have a child to begin with, not knowing if he's capable of paternal love.

But when you reassure him that he is the only man you'd want to have a child with, Ghost allows himself to trust, something you'd taught him after a difficult life devoid of trusting others.

He definitely puts his hands over your stomach whenever you're alone.

Looks at your growing bump with all the love in the universe.

It scares him how much love he feels for you and his child.

Never leaves you alone.

With you 24/7.

He's granted early paternal leave by his employers since he's seen as a liability for now.

He knows he wouldn't be able to concentrate entirely on his job, wondering if you're okay.

Tries convincing you to stay inside all the time.

Doesn't want anyone else except close family and friends seeing you.

Doesn't trust anyone to take care of you properly.

Does all the shopping.

Domestic Ghost.

One day when he's doing the laundry, you pick up one of his masks from the laundry basket; one he'd left in his bag weeks ago and forgotten to wash.

"I think you look so handsome in this," you said, leaning against the doorway.

Ghost scoffed. "That supposed to be an insult?"

"Not at all, my love," you said, coming up behind him and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Doubt the kid'll see the good in it like you do," His voice was gruff. He was thinking of something, and you could guess what.

"This," you said, holding up the mask, "is nothing to be ashamed of."

Ghost turned, looked at you, eyes doubtful.

"Then what is it, (Y/N)?" He stood to his full height, blocking out anything that wasn't him.

"It's who you were," you say, carefully. You put the mask back into the basket and place your hands on both of Ghost's shoulders.

"It's proof that you are enough and capable and worthy of having a family," you smiled at him. "This family."

Let's just say that Ghost definitely showed you his appreciation after your pep talk.

Is a very good cook, though only when it comes to simple, nutrition-packed meals.

Goes out and gets you whatever you're craving at that time.

Thinks you are the most beautiful person in the world.

You just have a glow about you when you're pregnant.

Gets extremely territorial.

More so than usual.

Is reluctant to let his associates know about your existence, nevermind that you’re pregnant.

When they meet you, however, he can see that you’ll have an unbreakable support system for life.

They all love you, all offering something of their skill set for your child like the fairies in Sleeping Beauty.

“This child’s got so many uncles,” you said to Ghost after they’d all left, folding some clothes and putting them into the drawer.

“Hm. And not one of them competent.”

You threw a balled-up pair of socks at Ghost, smiling playfully.

“Oi! They’re competent enough to be working with you.”

“Weeding out terrorists and raising a child are two very different things.”

You chuckled. “I cannot argue with that.”

A minute of silence passed. Then:

“You’ll always be safe with us, (Y/N).”

You turned and walked towards Ghost, coming to stand at his side. You took his hand in yours, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckle.

“I know, Love. I know.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[hispg]

Comfort

Pairings: R4! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Your husband is glad that he has you, just like he's glad to have his little family.

Wc:4.8k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, mentions of ptsd, mentions of birth and pregnancy, soft sex(nothing too kinky), oral sex(f receiving), just Leon being a sweetheart.

An:So, this week has been very busy for me. As I've been saying in my last few posts, university has been taking up a lot of my time, as well as my mental health being pretty messed up. I didn't manage to finish the chapter of 'Between Love and Vows' so I probably won't post anything new until next week. In compensation, I'll post another one of my drafts (smut), I'll make a poll so you guys can choose. And next week I'll post two new chapters of the series! Thanks for your love and understanding <3 If I haven't answered your comment, ask or request, don't worry, I will eventually🫶🫶

MDNI

Sleepless nights, the nightmares that kept tormenting him, his mind that was in turmoil all the time. Leon was used to all this, he had already realized that these were sensations he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

His trauma, ptsd that haunted him every day. Things he had seen and heard, all so fresh in his memory, so vivid. Things that no matter how hard he tried to forget, he couldn't. As if it were a mark stamped on his soul.

But he coped, as he always does with everything in life. Little by little, he understood how to deal with panic attacks, how to calm down even when he was about to collapse. He learned all this, but that didn't make things any less worse than they were.

Although he thought he had everything under control, that it wouldn't affect him as much as before, he was wrong.

His last mission in Spain proved it, he went from hell to heaven to save the president's daughter. Everything worked out in the end, but that doesn't erase what he experienced or saw.

Many times he could have sworn that if it hadn't been for you, he would have gone mad a long time ago. Even if you weren't able to end the pain he felt, you were there to be the light at the end of the tunnel for him, the clarity to his own insanity.

All this because every time he returned from a mission, he came home first, not caring if he was all dirty with mud and dirt, even blood. His safe haven was here, with you.

That was the only reason he always came home, no matter how difficult things might be for him. You were what he needed, you were the person who healed all his wounds, and he couldn't be more grateful.

If it had been anyone else, he would have left you by now, but you understood him. You listened to him even if he didn't make any sense, you were still there.

Your love was the remedy for all his problems.

And if he was being honest, it was the reason he woke up every day, the only reason he had a place to call home. You, simply you.

And that night, he found himself on another one of those nights when he couldn't sleep, and there he was, pacing around the house, finding something to occupy his mind.

It had been two weeks since he had returned from his mission in Spain, and he was still terrified by everything that had happened, even though he was safe and sound in the comfort of his own home.

He woke up from a nightmare, yet another one. And in order not to wake you too, he preferred to get out of bed. You were already tired enough to have to deal with him in the wee hours of the morning.

He was so careful with you, even though you had told him several times that it was okay for him to wake you up if he needed to. But he was stubborn enough to say no.

As he made some tea, just to see if it would calm his nerves, he watched the rain falling outside, the gentle drips hitting the window.

In that silence he began to have some sweet memories, it always helped to calm him down a little. One of those memories was when he asked you to marry him, God, he still remembers the nervousness that ran through his whole body. The trembling hands that held the box with the ring, the words that he had rehearsed so much and still came out messy. He was so afraid of being told no, but his heart calmed down when you smiled and threw yourself into his arms, saying yes again and again, making his heart melt each time.

That night he fell even more in love with you, if that were possible.

When you started living together, every time he came home he was greeted with a hug, you welcomed him with love and affection. He felt his cold exterior crumble at the same moment, words couldn't describe how much he liked it. Every little gesture that came from you, no matter what, he always took it to heart and considered it with all his soul.

He still vividly remembered a conversation he had with you as soon as you moved in together. It never failed to crack a smile.

"Darling, did you let something burn?" Leon asks as he feeds himself, looking around the kitchen.

You look at him with a laugh, seeing that he arrived so tired that he didn't even realize he was still in his work clothes. And then you answer, "No, why do you ask?"

"Nothing, it's just that something stinks." He says quietly, focused on finishing his food.

You can't help yourself and a giggle escapes your lips, "You haven't showered yet, sweetheart."

"Oh..." He mumbles, looking down at his state.

He was so entertained that he only noticed a baby crying from one of the bedrooms, it was you guys son.

He didn't hesitate to go into the baby's room, watching the little one whimpering in his crib, even though he was warm and comfortable in his blankets, the little boy was still bothered by something.

Leon imagined that he wasn't hungry, since you had fed him not long ago. Then he thought it might be his diaper that was dirty, which he soon confirmed.

So the baby was in his arms the next second, he put the little boy on the changing table and changed him properly, not forgetting a single detail, from carefully wiping him down with a wet wipe, to the ointment he had to apply to prevent diaper rash.

He checked the diaper to make sure it was fastened properly. Once he'd checked everything, he rocked the baby in his arms until the little one fell asleep again.

He even sang a lullaby, one of the little boy's favorites. He still thought it sounded ridiculous, but he didn't care as long as it soothed the baby.

Every time he looked at the little one's face, he couldn't hold back the loving smile that always appeared on his lips. It was still hard to believe that he had his own little family.

It's still clear in his memory when you announced that you were pregnant, the uncertainty and fear that consumed him. The anguish he felt, the apprehension of being a bad father. As well as the shock he felt when he received the news, since it wasn't something either of you were expecting. Not least because you had just started living together, so it was a lot all at once. But nothing that shook the relationship, quite the opposite.

But every time he saw you laugh, every time you came home with a little baby thing, whether it was clothes, shoes or even a toy. He couldn't contain his joy at the thought that he was going to be a father, that he was going to have a child.

It wasn't long before he started buying lots and lots of things for the baby, rattles, diapers, baby cloths, various types of educational toys, plush toys and everything else.

In a matter of weeks, the spare room in the house was full and ready to receive the baby, even if you weren't that far along in your pregnancy.

Not only did he become even more protective, the kind that wouldn't even let you lift a thing, but he accompanied you throughout your pregnancy. From start to finish. Even though he sometimes had to leave for work, he never failed to call you, even if it was late at night.

He always made video calls to see how you were doing, even talking to the baby in your belly on the phone. Even if they were quick calls, he still made sure they happened.

It was obvious that he wanted to be there for you, and he made it clear whenever he could, because he did everything for you, simply everything. Craves? He'd arrange anything you wanted. Going out late at night to buy a slice of cake in a particular flavor? Well, he was there. He would go to the end of the earth to find whatever you wanted.

When you were uncomfortable he was there, always whispering kind things to you, always trying to calm you down and relax in his embrace, trying to give you all the security you could have. He still remembers when your water broke, you were so calm, and he was about to have a heart attack.

Yet he was with you the whole way, holding your hand as you went into labor.

But all his worry went away as soon as he heard the baby's cry, the little being that had just come out of you. He still remembers the unconditional love he felt as soon as he laid eyes on the little one, as soon as he saw you cradling the boy in your arms, crying with exhaustion and joy. Just as he was crying as much as the baby, he felt so happy that he couldn't imagine being anywhere else but there with you and your bundle of joy.

"What are we going to call him?" Leon asked through tears, wiping away his own with the back of his hand.

"I don't know, sweetheart, we agreed that if it was a boy you'd choose." You say in a whisper, giving him a small smile. Rocking the newborn in your arms.

"No, I'd rather you chose." He says softly, running his fingers through the baby's thin golden strands, which by the way had the same hair as his father.

"Leon-," he doesn't let you finish, giving you a kiss on the lips. Letting his forehead rest on yours, looking at you with tear-filled eyes and a sweet smile.

"You've already given me one of the greatest joys of my life. Nothing could be fairer than for you to choose any name you like." Kind words that made your heart melt, and you just nodded.

At that moment he realized that there was no better place in the world. That there was nowhere else he wanted to be, all he needed was you.

While he was lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice that the little one had already fallen asleep, making cooing noises, his mouth hanging open while he slept peacefully. Even the way he slept was like Leon's, it was funny to see how similar the two of them were.

Then he slowly placed the little one in his crib, tucking him into the covers and making sure he was warm and comfortable for the rest of the night.

He stayed for a few more minutes, humming some more until he was sure the boy wouldn't wake up too soon.

After that he moved into the kitchen, where he found you awake, which was enough to make him wrinkle his eyebrows.

"Love?" He asks softly, moving towards you.

You answer him with a smile, giving him a hug, "You should have called me."

He shakes his head, kissing the top of your head, "I didn't have to."

You pout, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder.

"Here, I've made your tea. I've also put out a slice of cake for you." You murmur with a smile, pointing to the plate on the table.

He chuckles, holding your face and kissing the tip of your nose.

"You're amazing." He whispers before walking over to the table and sitting down, taking a sip of tea and eating the cake, which, by the way, was his favorite flavor.

So you sat next to him, waiting for him to finish eating silently.

"Your food is fucking good." Leon says, taking a bite of his cake and smiling at you.

You couldn't help but giggle, knowing that even if you burned the food, he'd eat it and say it was good.

"No, you're just being nice." You say softly, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He laughed genuinely, entwining his fingers with yours. Then he lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

You were always amazed by his loving gestures, which he always made towards you. And so the two of you remained until he had finished eating, rubbing his thumb against your hand to give it a gentle caress.

When he had finished, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking at you with a smile. But you couldn't help noticing the dark circles under his eyes, just as he still had a few scratches and bruises all over his body. As well as the scars, some new, some old. All a mark of his profession.

"Did you have another nightmare?" you ask, running your fingers along his cheekbones, smiling softly.

He nodded with a tired sigh, leaning into your touch, "No big deal."

You knew that he always hid these things from you, not least because it took time for him to feel comfortable sharing the events of his mission with you.

"You can tell me, smartass." You said smiling, rubbing your nose against his, letting his hand rest on the small of your back.

His lips curved into a small smile, just as his eyes met yours. And that was enough to make you blush slightly, no matter how long you'd been together, he always had that effect on you.

The rain began to fall harder outside, enough to make you both look out of the window. The rain left a comfortable atmosphere in the kitchen, just the two of you sharing the warmth of your bodies, making that cold night a little warmer.

You picked up the dishes and took them to the sink, taking the opportunity to wash them right away. And it wasn't long before you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, just as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his warm breath beating against you.

"I swear to God I love the smell of your lotion." He purrs, rubbing his nose against your neck, hugging you tightly.

You smiled, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. Even if it was late at night, those moments were so precious to you both. A little intimacy was always nice.

But even with all the affection coming from him, you could feel how tense his muscles were, how his breathing wasn't very regulated. Every time he had these nightmares, they took a while to wear off, and he was still scared for a good few hours.

You then turned to him, held his face in your hands and looked at him seriously, "You should have called me."

He knew how this conversation would go. But to be honest, he wasn't paying attention to your speech, only to the way your lips moved as you spoke, your sweet voice entering his ears. Even if it was you scolding him.

All he could do was give you a silly little smile, stroking your cheeks with his thumb. No matter how much you talked, he would forget the next day. He just didn't want to worry you with his work matters.

Gently he put his index finger to your lips, whispering, "Why don't you hush, darling?"

You widened your eyes, preparing to protest, but he interrupted you, giving you a loving kiss. The kiss was full of affection and tenderness, just as he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your waist once again, gluing your body to his.

Without giving you time to say another word, he carried you in his arms, taking you to your room like a princess, as if you weighed nothing, he did it with the purest ease.

His grip was firm, as if he didn't want to let you go, he wanted to have you there, in his arms.

Your room was dark, lit only by the faint light of the moon, while the rain continued to fall outside. It wasn't long before he laid you down on the mattress, letting you sink into the soft surface.

The door locked, the baby asleep, just the two of you in that room. The perfect moment for what was about to happen.

No matter how many times Leon looked at you, he always lost his breath, his breath caught in his throat.

You were so beautiful, so perfect, he didn't know how he had been so lucky to have found someone like you, and he couldn't thank you enough for that.

His hands began to move slowly up your thigh, callused fingers caressing the soft skin, letting his hand wander over the flesh, touching you with all the passion he had to offer. And he would do this for the rest of your life.

His mouth finding your neck, his hot breath making you gasp, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

Soon the wet kisses began, leaving his lips hovering over the weak spots that he knew, he knew exactly where to touch, because he knew well that every touch of his made your body shiver with desire.

"You're beautiful." He whispers, giving your thigh a light squeeze, feeling the soft fabric of your nightgown on the back of his hand.

You give a sly smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close.

He soon understands what you want, and he gives it to you right away. A tender, passionate kiss, gently capturing your lips.

You don't know how, but he always manages to show his devotion to you with every kiss, every touch, every night of love. He makes it seem like the first time, always showing you how much he loves you.

His fingers keep tracing your thigh, feeling how warm your body gets from his touch. Your body reacting under his, squirming and shivering, an incentive for him.

When he pulls away from you a little, just to stop the kiss. He nibbles your lip, lifts your leg and grabs the back of your thigh.

Making a point of giving you wet kisses all over your neck, shoulders, collar bone, all to hear the sweet sounds that escaped your lips every time, the way you begged softly for him to continue.

"Oh, fuck Leon..." You whimpered, watching his fingers purposely wrap around the strap of your panties, he was taking his time.

As he always did, because he wanted to make sure he gave you all the affection he could give.

As soon as their trail of kisses went down to your chest, he spared no effort in giving little kisses to your nipples, which were already hard, crying out for any kind of touch and attention.

It was more than enough for you to let out several moans and low squeaks, letting your hands nestle in his golden strands, feeling the softness they contained.

Both his hands slid under your nightgown, and before long his fingers were playing with the waist line of your panties, fingering and stretching, all the while keeping an eye on your every reaction.

The look he had in store for you was yours alone, he had never looked at anyone else like that. Nor would he ever, you were the only one capable of bringing it out of him. The only one.

Just as you never tired of looking into those gentle blue eyes, similar to the color of the sky, or even the ocean. You lost your breath every time.

And there he went, slowly dropping wet kisses over the thin fabric of your nightgown, feeling your body tremble beneath his, just as he made a point of running his fingers over the wet surface of your panties, only to give a smug smile, knowing that he could get you soaking wet for so little.

As soon as he reached your navel, he lifted your nightgown completely, exposing your lower body, which was enough for him to let out a low noise, excited by the image in front of him. Which only fueled his cock to throb even more under his pants.

"I wonder what I did to make you like this." Leon said with a sly, mischievous smile, sliding his index finger down your slit.

Did he know the answer? Of course he did. But it was nicer to hear it from your mouth, your sweet voice echoing through the room.

"You know, you just need to touch me..." You said with a pout, looking at him with piteous eyes, a look he already knew well. And yet it broke his smile every time.

"Because of me?" He purrs, pushing his fingertips against your covered pussy, teasing you as far as he can.

You whimper, spreading your legs as if it were an automatic reaction from your body. Understanding the signal, he pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, taking off your panties and sliding them down your legs, soon the garment was lying in a corner of the room.

You were there, completely exposed to him, legs dangling from his shoulders, clit throbbing and begging him to do something.

It felt like magic, every time he touched you he was able to drive you crazy with the smallest things. You often got wet just watching him, seeing the way the muscles in his arms flexed every time he held your legs tighter.

Or the way he always looked at you throughout the process, as he positioned his face close to your center, biting and licking your inner thigh, making sure to leave soft marks all over the area. He loved looking at the love bites the next day, not least because you looked beautiful with each one.

"You're all mine, aren't you?" He asked in a whisper, which sounded more like a question to himself. Especially because he didn't even need to hear the answer.

You were about to answer, but your mind turned to crumbs as soon as he started planting wet, caressing kisses in your folds, letting his tongue linger in certain spots.

His wet muscle slid into your wet pussy, making you arch your body and tremble under him. The tip of his tongue brushed against your clit, swirling around your sensitive part, enough for you to roll your eyes and moan a little louder.

"That's so good, so good..." You mumble, biting your lower lip to hold back your moans.

Every time he eat you out, he didn't hold back with the noises he made, he didn't even care about the slurping noises he made, or the way he did it in a completely sloppy way.

Not least because he never wasted any time, it wasn't long before he was fucking you with his tongue. Moving in and out, hitting all your sweet spots.

It didn't take long for you to be a mess, moaning and whimpering, your sounds echoing around the room. Your hands nestled in his hair, pushing his head against you, letting him get buried in your thighs.

Despite this, you couldn't help but crave his cock, a need to have it inside you, you needed him fucking you.

"Leon..." You called out, rolling your hips against his mouth, you could already feel your orgasm approaching.

He smiled sideways, kissing all over your intimate area, making a point of running his tongue over it in the process. The way he did this so masterfully left no doubt that he knew exactly what to do to bring you to the edge, he knew exactly.

As soon as he started tongue-fucking you one more time, it was enough for you to come apart in his mouth, gushing out all your climax. You could feel your body hot and bothered, your mind confused and without any other thoughts. It was surreal the way your orgasms with him were always that intense.

Just as he spared no expense in giving you sloppy, wet kisses on your wet folds, as if he were smoothing the area, taking the opportunity to clean up the mess that was between your legs. Even though he was about to make another one.

"It tastes fucking good, love." He purrs, licking his lips and lifting his head.

Having the beautiful image of you, with your legs spread, sweaty body, chest rising and falling. The way your eyelids were closed and your lips were open was more than enough to send a wave of electricity to his cock. Which, by the way, was already leaking pre-cum, the wet spot on his sweatpants was already clearly visible.

He wasted no time in removing his pants and underwear, letting his cock pop out. Which was a divine sign for you, seeing every inch of his shapely body, the way he was hard as a rock.

His cock resting in his palm, as he gave it a few small pumps, watching the precum drip down a little. Despite this, his eyes were focused on you, the way you bit your lip and stared at him.

"Please?" You ask in a whisper, spreading your legs even wider for him.

In response, he gives you a puffy smile, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, his sticky liquid pooling with your own juices.

You whimper and pout to get him in at once. As if on command, he obeyed, lifting your legs over his shoulder and fitting himself into you. Hissing once he was all the way in, the way your walls clenched around him was enough to elicit a grunt from him.

"So fucking eager..." He whispers in your ear, taking the opportunity to nibble on it. Making you gasp easily.

"Oh-Oh, so deep!" You moan, your nails sinking into the muscles of his back, a reaction he loved every time.

You can't say how, but he thrust into you in such a sensual way, his hips rolling with a dexterity you couldn't even describe in words. It was calm, sexy, who knows how you could describe it.

His eyes never left yours, he could reach all your weak points, all the places where he made you roll your eyes and curl your toes.

At that point, he didn't even try to understand you. Not least because you could only mumble half-words, whimpers or moans, and he couldn't have been prouder to leave you in that state. Your mind so foolish as he fucked you numb.

"Are you going to come already, love?" He asks softly, kissing your cheeks and pulling you even closer.

"Mhmhm." You hum and nod, feeling your walls tighten around him. Just like the feeling of butterflies in your stomach that you were beginning to feel.

He chuckled, speeding up his thrusts, making an even louder sound of skin hitting skin. He wouldn't be long either, he'd probably come right after you.

And there you went the moment he started making circles with his thumb on your clit, you're sure you went to heaven at the same moment.

Your lips parted only for you to let out a silent scream, a noise that came from deep in your throat. He was quick to pull you into a hot, thirsty kiss, moving at a much faster speed than before.

He wanted to get there now.

In and out he went, feeling his cock throb with each jerk of his hips. On the last thrust he came, thrusting deep, spilling all his seed into you, as deep as he could.

He let out a grunt through your lips, holding your sides tightly.

By the end you were panting, covered in a thin layer of sweat. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead on yours, giving a silly, tired smile.

"Sore?" He murmurs under his breath, trailing kisses down your cheek.

"Maybe a little." You whisper, closing your eyes and sinking into the mattress.

He then gets off you and places you properly on the bed, rolling you under the covers, and then doing the same. He hugs you from behind and cuddles you, giving you massages in the places he knew would be sore. He loved worshiping your body, and you couldn't complain.

"I love you." He says, full of love and tenderness.

"I love you too." You return, kissing his hand.

You fell asleep a few minutes later, and he watched you sleep as always, giving you kisses and caresses from time to time.

He loved you so much he couldn't explain it, you were his comfort. Everything he needed most. You and your son were his adored little family.

And the way he loved you, he knew that you would be the death of him.

Oh God, how he loves you.

[mushroomates]

some thoughts on elves and lactose intolerance:

on the topic of elves being vegan/vegetarian, where would they get eggs? foraging? what about milk.

because they do drink milk!!! they have cheese and milk but they don’t have cows. they don’t rlly farms,,, like i mean the grow food but cows??

because elves CAN eat p much anything and we know they have cheese. where r they getting this cheese??

some potential cheese sources:

aragorn introduced the culture (ha) of cheese.

but then imagine- hey elf dad i got some fermented milk it’s rlly good. like absolutely not would that become widespread accepted and make its way to lorien and mirkwood in a few decades.

they trade??? with humans??? certainly not drawfs. but who are these secret human links to cheese. with hobbits??? i could see bilbo being the elvish cheese supplier.

with gandalf???? is gandalf the cheese wizard? did he try some cheese off in the shire centuries ago and thought- yk what my girl galadriel would love this.

this is mostly likely how cheese was discovered. gandalf just kinda floating through like “you won’t believe what the hobbits just came up with”

but then who brings the cheese to other elves. consistently. like i get a one time thing but that’s a lot of cheese to keep for centuries.

does gandalf have a cheese wagon he brings round elven establishments and gives away wheels on wheels??? does he make them pay. does gandalf even have money or even need it??? (question for another day)

i mean rohan is kinda close to lorien but even then like. lorien is mysterious and gated and no horse girl no matter how cool can pull up and be like “yo elves try this sick brie we just made”

also elves are like capable of making their own cheese i know but that requires milk. and milk doesn’t save like cheese does. also there’s no COWS in lorien,,, where on earth would the put them. in the trees???

so like is the cheese even. cow,, cuz it’s not cow or goat and idk man. sheep?? maybe for clothes,, but where are the tree sheep?? where is the mirkwood sheep?? i can see rivendale with some maybe but???

also how r y gonna convince them in the first place to even TRY it. bc no matter how u pitch it some other creatures lactation is not it.

where is this milk coming from??????? i’m so sorry but i have questions mr tolkien please

also the idea of legolas being lactose intolerant to me is so funny im sorry but like imagine this poor boy goes his whole life without dairy and rocks up to rivendell for the first time, goes to the feast and tries this new fancy treat on crackers and has the shits for weeks

cuz there’s no way cheese is making its way to mirkwood. absolutely not. maybe in like the five army’s war they got SOME but like not enough. also thuranduil would not trust that shit. he’s not eating that and his son certainly isn’t.

but it tastes good with wine…. and that might have been the selling point.

mr tolkien i need awnsers please. tell me about the cheese wizard.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh. 

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life. 

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror. 

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth. 

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears. 

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself. 

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference. 

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares. 

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths. 

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them. 

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good. 

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious. 

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn’t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde. 

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number.  “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse. 

She’ll make sure not to lose it. 

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world. 

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval. 

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers. 

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again. 

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes. 

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish. 

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood. 

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks. 

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is. 

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious. 

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know. 

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself. 

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning. 

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief. 

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?” 

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.” 

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly. 

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family. 

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.” 

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them. 

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed. 

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up. 

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it. 

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true. 

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe. 

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time. 

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire. 

“No!” 

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck. 

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her. 

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing. 

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.” 

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction. 

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe. 

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance. 

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished. 

She almost….she almost feels calm. 

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now. 

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one. 

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side. 

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome. 

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question. 

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?

[lis-likes-fics]

Shijetra Nyke, Mandia

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader Word Count: 5.9k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon bc coercion, fingering, implied age gap (she's laena's little sister), multiple orgasms, p in v sex, breeding kink, sort of cheating, mentions of death and war, swearing, technically reader is black but she can be read as any race, High Valyrian, Daemon is not a good person... A/N: Hey, everyone! Was trying to hold off on this one but I decided to just post it anyway. Super excited for HOTD S2 to come out in June. I promise there are ideas for Aemond but writing sucks so much ass so it's just taking a while to get to it. Thank you so much and happy reading!

The seas are steady tonight. As the moon glints off its gentle waves, the water seems to mourn as you do. It was hard to find sleep. You came all the way out here to watch the crashing waves, in hopes of finding some solace in the sea, but even it does not seem to have the strength to roar tonight.

Your nightgown blows in the soft winds of the night as you watch the ocean.

The rustling of sand pulls a sigh from you, and you grit your teeth as you turn away from the man coming to stand next to you. You don't have to look at him to know who it is. You could tell him anywhere.

“I wish to be alone,” you whisper.

Daemon clasps his hands in front of himself as he looks out at the sea. “That is understandable, my lady.”

“And, yet, you are still here.” You look up at him, your features hard as you glare.

His voice is soft. You're not quite sure it fits him. The non-confrontation in his voice feels strange.

“I thought you might need company,” he says, examining your face as he does. For a moment, you think he can see the ghosts of the dried tears you've shed. “It has been a tiring day, after all.”

You huff, turning away again. Looking at him for too long makes your skin crawl. “I have not want of company.”

He hums. “I said ‘need’, not want.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, I have no need for your company.”

He seems unphased by your hostility. “Even so…” he looks down at you, the look in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine, “you shall have it.” You stare at him, wanting to step back but not wanting to give him that satisfaction. He turns his body to face yours, craning his head down to watch you better.

He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in, as if there were thousands of people here and the secret he is to bestow upon you is too dangerous to say aloud. “It is in times like these, I hear, times where we are most vulnerable, that a bit of presence does one good.”

Despite your urge to stay planted in your sandy spot, you take a small step back without breaking your feigned confidence. “Very well, then,” you say. “You may go and fetch someone else to give me presence. I do not need yours.”

He almost seems amused, though he dies it well. He leans his head back a slight. “You despise me so, yet I have done nothing.”

You let out a breathy scoff, turning away from him and toward your humorless response. “Well, that's the whole of it, isn't it?” You shake your head, your frustration piquing once more. “You've done nothing.”

He hums. “I don't think I understand.”

You look at him, and he can see the anger simmering in your gaze. “Don't you?” You step closer to him, invading his space as he does yours, daring to play his game. “Where were you when my sister left her birthing bed? Where were you when she left the walls of the castle to give herself to her dragon's breath?” Your voice broke as the pain threatened to tear apart your anger. “Where were you when she ordered Vaghar to take her life?”

He almost rolls his eyes at your accusations. “I tried to stop her.”

“But you didn't try hard enough,” you seethe. “Or she would be standing next to me.”

He steps closer, taking the control back. His voice is still quiet, though his level tone is twinged with annoyance. “Laena had her own spirit,” he insists. “She did as she liked well enough. I see not why I should have blame for her own decisions.” His near lack of regard fuels you. “And besides, she would have died anyway. The maesters told me so.”

You shove him back, and your rage is flared by the knowledge that he only moves because he allows you to move him.

“She was everything to me!” Your uneven breaths have your chest heaving as your voice echoes across the water. “Not only my sister, my blood—she was my protector.” You sigh shakily, angrily wiping away the tears welling in your eyes. Your voice softens, though not because you want it to. “Now she is gone.”

He remains silent for a moment, letting it sit until it's no longer comfortable. He tilts his head, still standing so close. “And yet, I am not to blame.”

You roll your eyes, unable to look him in the eyes anymore as you look past his head. “Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” he insists. “She was my lady wife, after all.”

You raise a brow. “Yet you do not mourn.”

He shrugs a shoulder, entirely unconvincing. “Everyone mourns differently.”

You nod. “And you mourn by shedding no tears and strutting through the castle halls?”

Daemon hums. “You must forgive me if I have offended you, my lady.”

You stare up at him, unblinking as your rage and grief continues to give you the strength to look in his eyes and speak your truth. “You have, and I don't.”

A huge part of that strength crumbles when he steps so close to you that you're forced to step back. You falter, a momentarily fear in your eyes at the predatory gaze in his own. His eyes seem to examine you, taking in each and every little curve of your body every crease in your dress. You try not to shrink under his scrutinization.

His voice is so soft, and your flesh crawls with the sound of it. “What do you need from me?”

You have no choice but to break eye contact. It's too much, too close. You swallow thickly, your voice quieting to a low request, rather than the command you had wanted. “I need nothing from you but for you to remove yourself from my presence. Hastily.”

He stands completely still for a while, his eyes just as fixed on your face. When he moves, it almost startles you. His hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingertips brushing your cheek. You're quick to swat him away with a harsh swipe of your hand, taking a step back. “Do not touch me.”

He says nothing, and the silence is unbearable. He just…watches you. His gaze is intense, focused, terrifying. He stands there, still as a statue for the longest time, before making another attempt for your face. You're just as quick as the first, if not quicker with your flickering frustrations.

“I said don't–”

He grabs your face, not caring this time for gentleness as his dull nails dig into the flesh of your jaw and hold you, pulling you close and keeping there, no matter how much you fight him. Your heart pounds against your ribs, beating so heavily that you think it'll stop any moment now. The fear that washes over you is both a searing chill and a molten burn. “Get off of me!”

Leaning in close, he shakes his head. “Shh, “ he bids. “Hush, little river.”

You hate that. Your family calls you that on occasion because you're the youngest of the Velaryon siblings, Laena especially. It's meant to be kind, for rivers are the waters that feed the sea, but when Daemon says it, you feel so small. You feel so insignificant. He taunts you with it.

“Don't call me that,” you hiss. “Get off of me!” You try to push him away, but as you suspect, he doesn't budge. But his next words make you freeze in your spot.

“You are just as beautiful as her,” he says, tilting his head as he stares. “Your sweet sister.”

You're stunned into silence, into stillness. You stare wide-eyed at him, holding your breath as the sound of the waves slowly beginning to build and the sound of your own heart beating away in your chest fill your ears.

You blink, confusion and shock coloring your face. “What?”

He tilts his head. “I wanted you, you know,” he whispers, his words lingering in the tiny space between you. You can hardly breathe, but you can't look away with his iron grip on your face. “When I married your big sister, I wanted it to be you I would bed that night… I only settled for her.”

Your shaking breath became loud as you tried to remove his hand from you, grasping his wrist with all your strength in an effort to pull him away, to no avail. “Daemon. Don't do this–”

“Now that she has taken her leave of us, bless her…” the slightest smirk slips onto his lips, “I am free to pursue my true desires.”

You shake your head, “Daemon–”

You turn your head just in time to avoid his kiss as his lips press against your cheek. Your squirm, squeezing your eyes shut as frightened tears spring to your eyes. Daemon chuckles darkly, taking a slip of your flesh between his teeth in a nip.

You have no control when he turns your head for you. His lips press hungrily into yours, forcing his lust down your throat whether you want it or not. Your protest comes out as a whimper, and it fuels his fire as his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against his body.

You push against him, struggling to get any traction to shove him away. You reach around to grab his hand at your waist, pulling at his pinkie until you've bent it too far for him to continue holding you. He pulls away, pride shining in his face as he smirks. You push him, but this time he doesn't move.

“Get your fucking hands off me before I call for Arlaryx!” Your command is sharp, but he doesn't seem all that phased by it. You honestly hadn't expected him to be.

He inclines his head back, sneering. “And bring her against my war-grown beast?” He stalks forward, invading your space again, no matter how far you stumble back. “You know your dear thing would not stand a chance.”

The thought of your precious creature in the jaws of Daemon's monstrous demon makes your blood run cold. He's right. She would not be enough against Caraxes.

You shake your head. Your voice is weak. “Please.”

He sighs contently, his smile curling into something especially evil. “I like you begging,” he purrs. “So small and sweet you are, when you do not spit venom.”

A deep snarl just barely resounds over the waves picking up about the sea. As you look over your shoulder, you both take in the sight of Arlaryx, her scales almost as blue as sapphires, a color that blends with the deep seas.

Her towering figure stalks out onto the beach, smoke billowing from her nose as she watches the both of you. Another snarl rumbles in her chest.

The faint sound of another snarl, one much different from her own, is heard seemingly in the back of your mind. But you know you did not imagine it. By the smirk on Daemon's face, you know you have not imagined it.

He bends down, his lips by your ear as he whispers. “Do you want to do this, little river?”

You stare at her, your eyes watering at the haunting images of her torn apart on the sand. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you know she feels it because she begins to snarl again. Her claws dig into the sand, her long tail swishes the water when she takes another step forward.

You steady your breath, opening your mouth and hesitating for a moment. You clear your throat, speaking as level as you can manage.

“Dohaeris, Alarlyx,” you command, swallowing roughly. “Dohaeris. Nyke sȳz.”

The beast makes no move to leave, and you sigh heavily. Curse her and her loyalties. They will get her killed.

You steel your voice, trying to sound stronger than you feel. She will not listen to you if you sound weak. “Lyrkiri,” you insist. The smoke diminishes, becoming thinner and thinner until it has stopped. “Sōvēs, Arlaryx, sōvēs.”

She lifts a heavy claw, easing slightly like she'll actually listen.

Then Daemon wraps an arm around your midsection, pulling your body against his as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You wince, squirming in his grasp.

Arlaryx’s mind seems to be made up. She crouches again, advancing slowly once more as her snarls become louder. Smoke arises once again from her nostrils as she opens her mouth, the burning heart of her rage billowing inside of her.

You both know it's just a threat. She would not put you in such danger, but Daemon's crimes against you have officially enraged her.

But Caraxes’ distant croaks and growls fill your head, and you can't stand it. You nearly shout, sounding almost as desperate as you feel as you drop your voice and command her.

“Dohaeris, Arlaryx,” you bellow. “Dohaeris se sōvēs.”

Her warning snarls are replaced with a sort of whining sound as she takes a hesitant step back. She grunts, and you watch the smoke dissipate. Unfurling her great wings, she takes flight as she disappears into the night.  Caraxes’ sounds have ceased. You sigh, almost relieved until Daemon's teeth nip at your ear. Anxiety fills you once more.

“That one is just as stubborn as you.” He kisses your cheek, his tongue darting out to taste the skin. He inhales your scent, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Shutting your eyes, you let out a shaky breath. “Just get this over with.”

Anticipation swirls in your belly, the prospect of his hands on you, his mouth, his…

But he just laughs at you, pulling away from your body and leaving you cold. You turn, surprise on your face as you try to figure out why he'd suddenly pulled away from you. Is he so fickle in his interests that he should let you go before having his way?

You have half a mind to run.

“Ȳdra daor gaomagon bona.” Don't do that. He remains close, his predatory gaze follows you. “Nyke gīmigon jaelā nyke, riña. Tepagon isse, byka qelbar.” I know you want me, girl. Give in, little river.

You clench your jaw, balling your hands into fists as you step closer. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao,” you spit. I don't want you.

He chuckles, leaning in until your faces are inches apart. “Pirtra.” Lies.

He takes a step forward, continuing this back and forth dance—you step, he steps, forward and back, left and right. Then he begins to circle you as you stand there, feeling as small as he probably views you.

“You think I don't notice when your eyes follow me down the hall?” he asks, and the question makes your blood run cold. “You think I don't see you peeking over your cup at dinner?” He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and whispering in your ear, his lips caressing the shell. “You crave my touch so deeply, it makes you look pathetic.”

His arms snake around your waist as he pulls you close. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand teasing you, reaching down, down, down.

“I hear you.” Your breath hitches. “At night when you touch yourself to my name.” The smallest breath slips from your lips when his hand cups your heat, his finger teasing your clit over your gown.

“Does it feel good?” His voice is a purr in your ear. “Imagining my fingers plunging inside of you? Wishing it was my teeth sunk into your flesh and not your own nails digging into your skin?”

Your legs tremble, his words resonating in your bones. You shake your head, taking a breath for courage as you object.

“You are not mine,” you whisper, your voice weak. You break out of his hold, turning to watch him as you try to recollect your wavering dignity. “Dead or alive, you are my sister's. I will not sully her memory this way.”

“Oh, come off it.” He comes closer. “Either way, your sister is dead. Why deny yourself pleasure for the memory of a dead sister?”

You slap him. His head whips to the side as your hand inspires a large red blush over his cheek. His fingers brush his skin, a large crooked grin taking his face as he slowly turns to look at you.

You take a small step back, anxiety creeping into you at the way he watches you, like prey being stalked by a cruel beast. He says nothing as he stands there. He begins to walk forward.

And you run.

Sand kicks into the air as you bolt away, your breath loud in your ears and your heart heavy in your chest. Tears spring to your ears as the exertion, the cold thrill of his hunt encourages your escape.

You don't get far. He's faster than you, and his strength is far superior to yours as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you from the ground. You kick your feet, trying to break free from his hold. But it's of no use. You shout over the crashing waves of the tides, waves that have picked up since Daemon arrived. Like they mourn with you, they fight for you, too.

He wrestles you to the ground, flipping you onto your back as he pins your arms down by your head. He looms over you, positioning himself between your legs and ignoring your fight like you're nothing against him. And perhaps you are.

“Go ahead,” he grins, spurred on by your struggle. “Pretend you despise me. Perhaps, now, you do.” He leans in close, whispering in your ear. “But we are all the way out here, with no one to hear your screams but the sea.”

Your fight diminishes, the reality of his words sinking in. You look at him, your eyes wide and struck with adrenaline-coated tears. His gaze is dark, his smile even darker. He shifts one of your arms to the other, grasping both your wrists in one of his big hands as the other strokes your side, dipping beneath your thin gown to touch your bare skin beneath. You shudder at the feeling, anxiety pooling in your belly at the knowledge that you can do nothing to fight him.

“Will you lose breath screaming or cumming?”

Your voice is weak and broken. It's barely a whisper when you speak. “Please.”

He shushes you, his lips so close to yours. You can almost feel it, the heat of his kiss as he would devour you.

And then he does. He presses his lips roughly against yours, his tongue slipping past them to taste you. He grips your side, his dull nail digging into your flesh. You can't help the whine you let out into his mouth, regretting the way you seek him out, especially after he pulls away. And he smiles triumphantly, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

“Don't worry, little river.” A quiet gasp erupts from your chest when his hand cups your bare cunt, his fingers rubbing against your folds before he parts them to plunge his finger inside of you. Your mouth falls open, sharp breaths teetering in and out at the way he touches you, at the way you clench around his finger like you'll die if he pulls away now.

“I'll give you what you've been craving all these years.”

He moves like fire. His hand is insistent as his finger plunges in and out of your wet heat, pulling more and more arousal from your already damp folds. You clench your jaw, stifling your moans as he forces the pleasure down your throat.

When he thrusts another finger inside of you, you moan at the stretch, your eyes rolling back at the way he curls them inside of you. You grab his arm, gripping it tight, though you're not sure if you're trying to stop him or not.

He moves quickly. You don't have time to catch up with the harsh thrusts of his fingers, so you lay back and take it as the pleasure explodes all over your body.

It feels so good. His fingers reach deeper, faster, too. The feeling of someone else's fingers inside of you instead of your own is so foreign. Your frantic breath makes you light-headed, and you can hardly keep your thoughts straight.

“I know it's exhausting,” he mumbles as his palm slaps against your clit, “fighting me.”

But you must fight. For your sister, who meant so much to you. You must fight against this man who let her die. Who would you be if you allowed yourself to succumb to your late sister's husband? She practically raised you, and this is how you repay her?

But here you are. She died hardly two days ago, and you were laying on the sand with Daemon's fingers in your cunt.

Being in this position is surreal. Because he was right, you had been craving this moment for years, wanting so deeply to feel Daemon's passion on your skin. His lips brush your cheek, and he murmurs into your ear. “You'll feel better when you let go.”

Your breath hitches. “Daemon.”

“That's it,” he smirks, feeling you leaning into him. “Close your eyes and give in to me, little river.”

Your eyes flutter shut. The pace of his hand, the feeling of his fingers thrusting so deeply, the pleasure scours your body until you feel yourself reaching your limit.

“Ȳdra daor keligon, Daemon,” you sigh, your voice high with bliss as you pull your hands away from his grasp. “Nyke jorrāelagon ziry.” Don't stop. I need it.

“Qilōni?” Who?

“Ao!” You! You moan, rolling your hips into his hand as he continues to coax your release from you. Your head is spinning, and you've long since left reason behind. “Nyke jorrāelagon ao,” you beg. I need you.

You turn your head to lay your eyes upon the sea, the pleasure within you swelling like the waves crashing against the shore. “Shijetra nyke, mandia.”

Forgive me, sister.

Your lips part and your back arches off the sand as you come undone. Your moans echo off the waters, becoming all the worse when Daemon's teeth nip the flesh of your neck.

It feels amazing, freeing almost. His hand continues to work out through your pleasure, even when it all fades into oversensitivity. He lets go of you, pulling away from your body and staring down at you. You watch through hooded eyes as he examines his hand, watching the way your arousal glistens off his fingers in the moonlight. He looks at you as he licks his fingers clean.

The scene is so erotic, the way he groans at the taste of you on his tongue. “Such a magnificent treat you are,” he hums. He bends down and takes your lips against his own, his tongue licking into your mouth as you taste yourself on him.

You watch as his hand reaches for his belt, and you can't help the way your legs close at the thought of him revealing himself to you. He reaches a hand out, gripping your knee and pushing your legs apart again. “Do not move.”

You do as you're told, waiting with bated breath as he unlatches his belt and sets himself free. You gasp silently at the sight of him, long and solid and flushed pink at the tip. When your eyes lock with his, he looks quite proud of himself.

Daemon turns you on your belly, positioning you as he wants you, with your face shoved into the sand and your hips in the air. His harsh hands grope your body, your ass, your waist, your thighs. You groan, your hips jerking when his thumbs spread your folds apart.

“You're fucking dripping,” he says, a dark smirk in his words as he runs a finger between them.

“Kostilus,” you whisper, taking handfuls of sand to try to control yourself. You were in too deep. Your desire for him has turned to a desperate need embedding itself in the pit of your stomach. Please.

He chuckles, “Say it again.”

You have no mind to refuse him. You've long since lost your dignity, and you've betrayed your sister like you never thought you would. It's too late for you. Why deny yourself pleasure over broken promises?

“Kostilus, Daemon,” you whine, shuddering at the way his hand strokes down your spine. “Nyke jaelagon ao.” I want you.

He puts you out of your misery with a harsh thrust into your needy cunt. You moan, your heavy breaths blowing sand into the air. “Ondoso se gods…” By the gods…

A long groan rumbles in his chest as he closes his eyes, relishing in the feel of your tight pussy. “Fuck,” he curses as he bottoms out. “You are a virgin.” He grips your hips, burying himself so deep that you feel like you can't breathe. “With all your supposed virtue, I thought you were pretending you weren't a dirty whore.”

As he grips you tight, Daemon doesn't take you, he fucks you. He holds you, digs his nails in your flesh. He thrusts his cock in and out of your tight hole, fast and rough and with the recklessness of a starving man devouring his food. The ocean rages. You're not sure if it's a reflection of your betrayal or your need. The sea is strange in that way, it's versatility.

You wish you could disappear into the dark waters, break away from this beast of a man and let the sea consume you. At least then you'd be at peace with yours, part of the waters of your bloodline.

But here are you, consumed by fire as you ignore the burn of the sand scratching your skin. It's a molten kind of pleasure, the kind that oozes out of you in lingering bliss and deep desires. You're slick with arousal, which makes it easier for him to glide in and out of you. His relentless pace smacks against you, the sound of it echoes through the air with the heavy heat of his passion.

Your position is so compromising. Anyone could happen across you. Anyone could walk the shoreline and find you being fucked into the sand by your sister's husband.

Your rationale falls short because the fear of it is nowhere near as strong as it should be. If the lords of Pentos saw you, they would surely gossip. Word would spread through the city, and that word would spread all the way across the sea. Everyone would know, your nieces, your brother, your mother and father. They would reject, disown you. They would strip you of Velaryon, you would be just another Waters bastard of Driftmark.

You could say he made you. You could tell them he threw you to the sand and took you as he pleased, ravaged you as though you were nothing but meat. But Corlys would go to war over you. To have your honor destroyed in such a way, it would be a war of sea against fire, a war full of bloodshed and hatred.

The idea has you running cold, but the chill doesn't last long with the way Daemon's hips thrust into you, full of his own fire.

“What I wouldn't give to spend every moment snug in this virgin cunt,” he grunts, reaching forward as he flattens his hand against the back of your skull. He twists your hair around his fingers and pulls, keeping you secure in his grip. You go limp at the feeling, the weakness seeping into your bones.

“Perhaps I should breed you,” he sighs with a laugh. “I'll fill you full of my seed, maybe even keep you as my broodmare. I'll keep you round with my children, always ready for me to fuck as I please. Is that what you want, little river?”

So truly blinded by your pleasure, you have no choice but to agree. You lean into the way he makes you feel, letting your troubles melt away, your concerns and your hesitations a thing of the past. They will do you no good now.

“Yes,” you gasp, allowing yourself to be ravaged. “Yes, Daemon, I want that.”

The triumphant look in his eyes shines at the way you give in so completely. Empowered by your submission, his thrusts become more merciless. He grunts and groans behind you, tugging on your hair and holding you still as you return the passion.

All of the sudden, he pulls out of you, leaving you cold and shaking. A stray whine seeps off your tongue, but you have no time to let it linger before he’s flipping you onto your back. He throws your legs onto his shoulder and shoves himself back inside of you in just a couple fluid motions. His ruthless thrusts have you nearly crying for him. The blunt head of his cock reaches so deeply like this, punching against that spongy part inside of you as stars swirl in your vision.

“It feels so good,” you moan, though you’re sure your words are nearly incoherent. It feeds Daemon’s ego either way, encouraging a rougher fuck as he gives you what you want, gives himself what he’s been craving all along. He was right. You do feel as good as he thought, better even. You’re so tight, so inexperienced and untouched that all of his cruel pleasure wrecks your body in your sensitivity.

“You can get louder, can’t you?” he asks, bending down to fold you in half for a different angle.

Your head falls back against the sand. You must look a mess, covered in tiny grainy crystals, hair all over the place. But it doesn’t matter. That’s probably what he wants. Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him close as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are shorter, harder now. You’re running out of breath quickly, struggling to keep up.

“Fuck, don’t stop!” The breathy wail feels almost like it was forced from your lungs. As he reaches his hand down to touch your clit, you’re done for and you know it. “Oh, Daemon, please.”

He’s intent on making you cum, and with the skill he’s acquired throughout his years, you know he’ll be successful. He’s already got you crying his name.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, girl?” he questions, his breath heavy and his hair messy upon his head. “I know you want to, you’re squeezing me so tight.” You cant your hips up into his own, seeking out your sweet release as he hangs it over your head. “Tell me who you want.”

Your eyes, blurry with tears, watch him hazily. “You.”

He tuts. “You can do better than that. If you want to cum, you will tell me who you want to breed this tight little hole of yours.”

You have no mind to refuse him—you have no mind to do anything but follow where the pleasure takes you. With shallow breaths, you blink pleasure tears from your eyes. “I want you, Daemon. Please, I want you to cum in me and make me your whore.”

He doesn’t know if you could have said it any better. Making harsh circles over your clit, he fucks you with all the strength he’s got. You feel like he’ll bruise you with how brutal he’s being. You feel a tightening coil in your belly, one that just clenches and clenches and clenches with every circle on the sensitive pearl he attacks.

“Cum for me, little river,” he commands, leaving you and your body no room to refuse him as he pulls it out of you. “Cum all over my cock and scream my name like the perfect whore that you are.”

And you obey. It’s like a lever being pulled. One moment you’re teetering on the edge, the next you're arching your back and feeling pleasure consuming your body in a fire that makes you shiver. He doesn’t stop fucking you. If anything, the way you tighten around him only makes his thrusts shorter and his grinding rougher. You’re dizzy and your moans are high and pathetic.

He doesn’t stop attacking your clit. You’re so sensitive, once the pleasure wanes and the movements sting, you squirm away from him, but he doesn’t care. He holds you in place and commands you as though you were one of the dragon beasts he meant to train. He wraps his free hand around your throat, leaning down to bite and suck at your neck. “Dohaeris,” he hisses, his tone sharp and quiet but full of so much of a threat that you bear through the discomfort until it twists in your gut into the dizzying sensation of overstimulated pleasure again.

His name falls from your lips like a chant. The sound of it continues to spur him on, his thumb becoming faster as he searches for that same release for himself. “Please, Daemon,” you whimper, “please cum inside of me. I need you to cum inside of me, please.”

You tip him over the edge. With a growl, he shoves his cock as far as he can go, far enough that it hurts when he buries himself so deep. Grinding into you, his hot release fills you to the brim. Encouraged by the adrenaline, his ruthless thumb carries on until you’re cumming with him.

Your sounds mix in the air, his grunts, your moans, the squelching sound of his cock thrusting into your clenching cunt. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he praises, his voice rough with the effects of his release.

With two more thrusts, as rough as he can make them—just for the fun of it—he pulls out of you. You whine, laying limply on the sand. He watches you, smiling at the way you seem to struggle to stay conscious.

He considers just leaving you there to recuperate on your own.

Daemon adjusts himself, stuffing his cock back into his trousers and fixing his belt. He stares at your cunt all the while, using his fingers to shove his cum back inside of you every time it begins to leak out.

He sits you up, fixing your gown and pulling your face to sit inches from his own. “Iksā ñuhon,” he mutters into your ear, his words clear. “Daorys kostagon renigon ao sir.” You shudder at his claim, your eyes fluttering shut as he whispers to you. You are mine. No one can touch you now.

”Do you understand me?” he asks, and you know you cannot refuse.

Not that you ever want to.

You nod slowly, looking up at him as you accept your fate. “Kessa, Daemon.”

He hums. “Good.” Staring at your lips, he leans in and kisses you. He kisses you with force and power, using a kind of domination that was quite unnecessary—given the fact that he’d already taken your virginity and, quite possibly, bred you with his children. There’s a hint of something in the background, however, a hunger, a desperation that seeps into your skin and makes you feel warm.

Under the cruelty is a gentleness that is entirely foreign to you. You chalk it up to imagination as he pulls away, pinching your cheek. “Come with me,” he orders. “I am not done with you yet, my little river.”

Shijetra nyke, mandia.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa Tag yourself here...

[corroded-hellfire]

As You Wish - Eddie Munson x Reader, Part 3

This was a collaboration with my dear @munson-blurbs!

Summary: Eddie knows he hasn’t gone about things as he should have, so he’s determined to make things better—for everyone. You can read part two here.

Note: Thank you everyone for your kind words and hilarious messages! Seeing what you all have to say about this series truly makes my day.

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), breeding kink, spanking, oral f!receiving, I think that’s it?

Words: 10.8k

[All stories in this verse]

"I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as—”

BZZZT!

The apartment buzzer rings, startling you from your When Harry Met Sally trance. You’d nearly dropped your bowl of cookie dough ice cream. 

“I’ll answer it,” your roommate calls out, padding across the living room. You muster up a smile as a silent thanks; you just don’t have the mental energy to face another human being right now. 

“Who is it?” Jess asks, speaking into the intercom on the wall. 

“It’s me. Um, it’s Eddie.” His voice makes your stomach drop into your feet as you violently shake your head no. You’d filled Jess in on what had happened over the weekend, and she certainly wasn’t on Eddie’s side. 

Sure enough, a scowl crosses her face. “Why don’t you fuck off, Eddie?” she sneers. 

“Yeah, so, I’ll do that,” he mumbles, “but I just need to drop something off. Please.” He sounds so pathetic. Good. 

Jess looks over at you for your reaction. “I don’t want anything from him,” you mutter, snuggling deeper into your fuzzy blanket. “Tell him to go away.”

She nods, pressing on the intercom again. “Denied.” She starts to walk away, but Eddie’s pleas stop her in her tracks. 

“Look, I know I fucked up big time. And I’m so sorry. I never should have dragged her into this; gotten her caught up in my bullshit. I was…I was a coward, okay? A goddamn coward. But I’m done avoiding fixing my mistakes. Because when I tried to run from my problems, I hurt the best girl I know. And I want—need her to know that I’ll prove how much she means to me, if she’ll let me.”

Jess turns to you, her eyes wide and slightly misty, obviously moved by Eddie’s words. She puts her hand over her heart and inclines her head towards you, silently asking if you’ve changed your mind. And it’s tempting. How many times did you fantasize about Eddie making some big dramatic declaration about how much he cares for you? But you’re scared. Scared this is some sort of false hope. That you’ll let yourself be ensnared by his spell and let yourself get hurt again and again. You’ve never had fear like this before and it’s as if your body and mind just want to shut down.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I-I don’t want to see him.” 

Now Jess goes from moved to annoyed. She plants her hands on her hips and takes a few steps closer to where you’re curled up on the old floral couch. “Are you kidding me right now? I’ve listened to you sing the praises of this man for a year now. How sweet and kind and wonderful he is. Listened to you say over and over again how much you love him and how if you had him, you’d never take him for granted like his crazy bitch of a wife does.” She flings her hand toward the front door. “Well? He’s here. Trying to apologize for what he’s put you through. You even said yourself when you came home crying the other day that you know he cares about you. So why don’t you at least hear him out?” 

“I don’t want to see him,” you say in a small voice. Sniffling, you shrug your shoulders. “You’ve never seen his eyes.” You shake your head, gaze dropping to your lap. “He has this puppy dog look about him and I know if I see it, I’ll cave no matter what he says.”

“So, go in your room,” Jess says. “I’ll let him up, drop whatever he wants to drop off, let him say his peace. And you can just listen.”

Heaving a sigh, you snatch up the remote and press the pause button. Tossing the blanket from your lap, you stand and make the few steps into your room and shut the door. Jess scurries back over to the intercom, hoping he hasn’t left yet.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah! Yeah, still here.” The hope is clear in his voice as he realizes he hasn’t been ignored completely. 

“Come on up.”

Eddie wastes no time, pulling the door open as soon as Jess presses the button, taking the stairs two at a time and making his way to apartment 217. The sound of his knuckles rapping on the door reaches you in your bedroom and you wrap your arms around your body, mentally preparing yourself to listen to what he has to say. 

“She’s in her room,” you hear Jess tell him. “You can talk through the door. And what have you got to drop off?”

There’s silence except for Eddie’s footsteps and the curiosity of what he’s brought burns in your brain. As his footsteps come right up to the other side of your door, there’s a buzzing in your stomach.

“C-Can you hear me?” Eddie asks.

“Yes,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut. Just the sound of his voice so near has you longing to throw the door open and jump into his arms. You’ve never felt as safe in your life as you did when he was hugging you. 

“I, um.” Eddie clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, sweethea—I’m sorry. I fucked up big time. What are you…” Eddie trails off and your eyebrows pinch in concern. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jess says, loudly enough that you know she’s standing next to Eddie. “But you should read this.” There’s a slide against the hardwood of your floor and you look down to see a little white rectangle slip under your door. It’s a business card, you realize as you pick it up. 

Carl Hampton, Esquire

Divorce Attorney

“Turn it over,” Jess says. 

It’s not enough for you to be mine, so I’m taking the first step towards being yours - Eddie

The tears start immediately. Even as you read the note in Eddie’s scrawling handwriting over and over again, your vision goes a little bit blurrier each time. Your hand trembles as you hold the card, the other going up to cover your mouth. Even though you think you’ve been quiet as your crying grows to sobs, you must be louder than you realize.

“Okay, she’s crying,” Eddie says, clearly talking to Jess. 

“Let me go in,” Jess says, but when she cracks the door open you catch sight of Eddie. He’s distorted and fuzzy through your tears, but you’d know that mass of curls anywhere. Jess has just enough time to jump out of the way as you launch yourself into his arms, not sure if this means you forgive him or not, but just knowing you need to be held by him. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie says as he clutches you against his body. “Shhh, it’s okay.” One of his arms is wrapped securely around your waist while his hand on the other comes up to smooth over your hair. “You’re okay.”

Jess sidesteps the two of you embracing, so she can head back into the living room; just far enough to be out of the way but close enough to hear everything. 

Eddie’s touch manages, as always, to calm you down. Something about his entire being makes you feel seen and understood. It’s been that way since day one with him. When you’ve calmed enough that you think you could talk without Jess acting as an interpreter, you pull away from Eddie and wipe your tear streaked face off on the sleeves of your sweatshirt. 

“Eddie, please don’t break up your family for me.”

“Baby,” he slips up with the pet name, but neither of you says anything. “I’m just doing what I should’ve done ages ago. I never should have put you in this position.” Eddie aches to bring his hands up to your face, but he doesn’t want to overstep what you’re comfortable with. It’s killing him to see you visibly upset, knowing he caused it, and just holding you wouldn’t solve anything. 

You nod your head at his words. Some of the pain is starting to ease and you feel like you can breathe properly for the first time in days. You’d told Eddie you just wanted to see him doing something; taking a step in the right direction. And this was a pretty damn good step to take. “You’ve called this guy?”

“No, I didn’t call him. I spent all morning at his office,” Eddie says, and your head snaps up to meet his eyes. “I’ve done everything I have to for the process to begin. Now they work on whatever legal bullshit they’ve got to do, I guess.”

But there’s something else that’s been eating at you. Yes, Eddie should’ve divorced Brittany a long time ago. But now that he’s finally doing it, does he really want to jump from one relationship to another? “Are you sure you want this? You don’t want to stay single for a while? Because I’ll under—”

Eddie caves and brings his hands up to your face, leaning in to press his lips firmly against yours, trying to convey all the love and fondness he can through one kiss. 

“I love you,” Eddie says once he’s pulled away. “And you don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel it, but I needed to tell you. I fucking love you.”

There’s never been so much confusion in your heart before. Eddie loves you. The thought can’t seem to sink in. Eddie loves me. You know wholeheartedly that you reciprocate the feeling. You’ve known that you love him for a long time. But there’s still so much fear. It’s dampening the excitement of his declaration.

“I—I’m afraid,” you murmur, eyes unable to meet his. 

Eddie frowns, taking your chin in his hand and tilting it slightly upwards. “Am I that mean and scary?” There’s some humor behind his words, but they’re tinged with concern. 

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m afraid that if I say it back and it—it makes it real, it’ll hurt even more if…” You can’t even finish the sentence without choking up. 

“Hey, hey,” Eddie presses his lips to yours. “It’s okay. I get it. Baby, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, too. I mean, an old man like me getting involved with a total knockout like you? Beauty and brains?” He chuckles. “Let’s face it, pretty girl. I have a lot more to lose than you do.”

“I…I…” you hesitate, trying to muster up an ounce of courage. “I can’t do this, Eddie.” You gently press the business card back into his palm. “I can’t be in love with someone who’s married.” Your eyes widen as you come to a realization that makes you sick. “The boys…they’ll know I’m the reason that their parents split up.” You imagine their sweet, innocent faces blotchy with tears as they tell you they hate you. 

Eddie’s posture goes tense, and he almost sounds angry as he says, “Absolutely not. You gave me the courage to file, but my marriage was over long before this.” Your lips brush together in a series of chaste kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He rests his nose on yours; the saltiness of his own tears mixing with yours as they seep into your tongue. 

“I think we need to wait,” you blurt out, words tumbling from your mouth before you can think them through. “Until Brittany knows that you’ve filed, and you’ve talked about it with the kids.” It’s painful to push him away, but it’ll hurt worse if you continue this and he decides not to follow through with the divorce. 

Eddie looks crushed, like he was hoping to sweep you off your feet and make love to you right then and there. “Right, yeah. That makes sense.” He sniffles, trying to will away the sting of your rejection. “When that happens, we can finally be together?”

“If that’s what we both want.”

“Baby, I’ll never stop wanting you.” He’s so tempted to pull you into him and leave harsh, bruising kisses down your jawline, claiming you as his. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”

You just nod, twiddling your thumbs to keep yourself from intertwining your fingers with his. “Do you still want me to watch the boys?” you ask shyly, cheeks burning at the ridiculousness of the question. “Because I get it if—”

“If it’s okay with you. We’d—they’d—really miss you if you just up and left.” I’d miss you most of all, he thinks, but keeps it buttoned up inside. 

“Yeah,” you concede, stepping back towards your bed. “I’ll see you all later, then.”

You’re about to close the door when you hear him say, “Wait.” He steps closer to you, business card between his pointer and middle fingers. “Hold onto this f’me, please?”

You initially hesitate before accepting the card again. “Okay.”

“Never want you to forget how I feel about you,” Eddie says, placing one last kiss on your cheek before he’s out the door, leaving you in a spiral of your own racing thoughts. 

As soon as Jess hears his footsteps disappear down the hall, she’s in your room. “I don’t normally tell you what to do,” she murmurs, rubbing small circles on your back, “but if you don’t marry this man, I will.”

You give her a playful nudge as you rest your head on her shoulder. “He’s gotta get un-married first,” you remind her—and yourself—bitterly. 

After the conversation you had with Eddie earlier in the day, you’re a little worried things will be awkward when you pick Luke and Ryan up from school. But thankfully, they’re the same happy kids you know and love, and not a thing is different with them. It’s almost time for Eddie to come home when the three of you are finishing up a game of Candyland. Luke kept getting caught in the Molasses Swamp, so he huffs as you enlist their help in cleaning up the board and pieces. When the little boy stomps down the hall to put the game away, Ryan looks up at you. You give him a smile and his gaze shifts back to his lap. He glances back up at you and the unusual behavior makes you frown.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask.

“Why were you sad?” he asks, voice soft.

Frowning, you move some hair off of his forehead. “What do you mean?”

“On Saturday. You were talking with Daddy and then you got really sad and left. You didn’t even come say hi.” His sad brown eyes look so much like his father’s that it brings you back to when Eddie gave you the same look this morning. 

“I didn’t know you saw me.” You pause, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. You’re not sure if Eddie had already said anything about it or not and you don’t want to contradict any explanation he might have given the kids. “Um, well, I was having a bad day. Do you ever have a day where you just don’t feel very happy?” Ryan nods. “That’s what it was. And I didn’t want to make you or Luke sad too, so that’s why I didn’t say hi.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, nodding his head. “Are you still sad?”

“Not as much,” you tell him truthfully. “Just a little.”

His little hand comes over and takes yours. “I don’t want you to be sad. You know what Daddy tells me when I get sad? That he loves me. And I love you. So, I’m telling you that.”

The smile that comes to your face is reflexive. Ryan is such a sweet boy, and you can’t imagine what your life would be like without him. You lean in and press a kiss to his hair, mumbling against it. “Seems to be a trend with the Munson boys today.”

“What?” Ryan asks.

“I love you, too,” you tell him, squeezing his hand gently. “You made me feel better.”

“Good!” A smile lights up his face and you wonder how this kid became so sweet despite having a mother like he does. Then the obvious answer hits you: Eddie’s his dad. Sweet, kind, means-well-but-sometimes-fucks-it-up Eddie.

You’re jostled from your thoughts by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Eddie hustles in, giving you a small smile.

“Hi,” he says simply, waiting for your response to see how he should proceed. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coveralls.

“Hi.” You stand up and return his smile. “The boys were great today, as always.” You rest your palm on Ryan’s shoulder as he gives his dad a grin, showing off the gaps where his missing teeth are.

“We played Candyland, and I won,” he proudly reports. “And then I used your cheer-up trick! You know, when you tell someone you love that you love them.”

“Oh?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “Luke was that upset about losing?”

You shake your head. “No–well, yes,” you chuckle softly. “But he was talking about me. He saw that I was sad on Saturday and wanted to make me feel better.”

A wider smile spreads across Eddie’s face. “You’re a thoughtful kid, you know that?” he tells his oldest son, who doesn’t quite understand the concept of rhetorical questions.

“I know.” His candid demeanor makes you and Eddie laugh, and Ryan sprints to his brother’s room to announce that their dad is home.

You reach for your jacket, eager to leave before you’re tempted to talk to Eddie. Because you know precisely where that will lead.

“Hey, um,” Eddie digs into his pocket and pulls out more bills than usual from his wallet. “I’m gonna tell her tonight. Figured that’d go over better than just having her served.” He hands you your salary plus two extra twenties. “Could you take the boys out for dinner? Could just be McDonald’s or somethin’.”

You swallow thickly as you accept the money. “Y-Yeah,” you stammer, “how long will you need?”

“Give us an hour?” he shrugs. “Don’t think it’ll take that long; she’ll probably yell for a few minutes and then leave. But just in case she decides to stick around and scream for a while.” His chocolate brown eyes meet yours, making you shiver. “Thank you, baby–I mean, thank you. For, um, for everything.”

“Of course,” you nod. There’s a beat of awkward silence before you say, “I’ll go tell Luke and Ryan. They’ll probably be excited to have a Happy Meal.”

Eddie bites his lower lip as he watches you walk away. It’s going to be the hardest conversation of his life, but knowing it’ll bring you back to him makes it worth it.

Brittany comes home after you’ve already left with the kids, thankfully. Eddie’s waiting at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of him and knee bouncing up and down in nervousness. Brittany hangs up her coat and pauses as she passes the kitchen, raising an eyebrow as she sees her husband sitting there. 

“Um, hi?” she says.

“Hi, um.” Eddie kicks out the seat across from him at the table. “Can you sit? I need to talk to you about something.”

To his complete shock, she complies. “Where are the boys?”

“Uh, out to dinner. I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

“Okay.” Brittany crosses her arms over her chest before her face contorts in a sneer. “Wait. Is that little whore pregnant?”

Eddie bangs his palm against the table before pointing a finger at her. “Don’t you fucking call her that.” He takes a moment to compose himself, then a small smile creeps on his face as he thinks about the question. At the very thought of you having his baby.

“Holy shit, she is!” Brittany shouts.

“Oh, calm down!” Eddie rolls his eyes and motions for her to relax. “She’s not.”

“What’s with that dopey grin then, huh?” She spits the words at him, venom lacing every syllable. 

“Honestly? Cause the thought of her having my baby makes me really fucking happy. But that’s not—.”

“Ugh!” Brittany screeches. “What is wrong with you? I am your wife. Me! Remember? The one you promised yourself to?”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, a hand slapping against his chest. “You’re actually serious? Really, Britt? You realize you’re the one who broke the vows first, remember? Years and years ago. So, you don’t get to act all high and mighty here.” Eddie licks over his lips, shaking his head. “You’re right, technically. You are my wife.” Not for long, he thinks to himself. “But we’ve been over a long time.”

“Just because you’ve decided it?” She arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. 

“Because you stepped out and stopped giving a shit about me.” Eddie holds his hands up. “I’m getting off track. Listen, I saw a lawyer today.”

“Why?” she snaps.

“I filed for divorce.” No sugar coating it. No beating around the bush. This shitshow of a marriage has already taken up too much of Eddie’s time. “And don’t blame her for it, because all she did was give me the courage to do what I should’ve done ages ago.” His eyes are blazing. “You only kept me around so you could pretend to have this perfect little life: husband, kids, house in the suburbs. Or maybe because you get some sick pleasure from stringing me along while you sleep with half the town.” That last part is probably a step too far, but he doesn’t care.

Brittany scoffs incredulously. “Fine, Eddie. You two enjoy your Barbie Dreamhouse life together. The boys and I will manage without you.” She starts to stand up, but she’s drawn back by a loud guffaw from Eddie. “What?”

“Do you really think they’re gonna want to live with you? Do you even know what goddamn grade they’re in? What they want to be when they grow up?” He watches her face fall. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought. And you know the saddest part? They know it, too. They know that their own mother doesn’t give a shit about them.” He wipes a tear from his cheek. “I bet you know every last detail about your boyfriends, though. You and your fucked up priorities.”

Brittany’s expression turns from shock to rage. “Get. Out.” she seethes, gritting her teeth. “Go stay with your girlfriend, since you love her so much.” She’s crying, too, but because she’s losing the argument, not because she’s losing her husband.

“You’re gonna wake up with them and get them ready for school in the morning? Tell me; what do they eat for breakfast?” He laughs tersely at her silence. “That’s what I thought.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m staying here. For Ryan and Luke.” His voice softens slightly. “You can stay here, too, until we sort this shit out.”

Brittany doesn’t take him up on his offer; instead, she storms out of the room and into the bedroom. She starts tossing clothes into a duffel bag, zipping it up and tossing it over her shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow after they go to school to get the rest of my things.”

She slams the screen door behind her, and Eddie hears her car start up and peel out of the driveway. He allows himself to sob, mourning the life he’d once had. But he still has his boys; his incredible, gentle, loving sons. 

And if he plays his cards right, he has you, too.

Eddie finally drags himself from the kitchen table to the bathroom where he washes his face. It’s all red and splotchy from the crying, and the tears are sticky on his skin. As he’s toweling himself off, the bathroom light glints off his golden wedding ring, reflecting in the mirror above the sink. Eddie sets the soft towel down and stares at his left hand. He should be upset about taking it off, he thinks. But as he slips it off his finger all he feels is immense relief. It’s as if the ring weighed a ton and now without it, he feels light as a feather. Walking into his room, he pulls open his bedside table and drops the ring inside. He’ll have to think of something to do with it, but for now, it’s fine lying in the dusty old drawer. 

The front door opens, and two loud voices echo back to the master bedroom. Rubbing his hands over his face one last time, Eddie heads out to greet his family.

“Daddy!” Luke calls when he sees him. “Look! I got a race car toy!”

“Wow,” Eddie says, taking the small blue car from his son. He looks it over and nods his head appreciatively. “This looks like something I’d want to work on in the garage.”

Luke giggles and takes the toy back, happily going over to the coffee table which he pretends is a road for his new car to drive over. 

“Hi, Dad! Bye, Dad!” Ryan runs towards the bathroom, making Eddie chuckle.

“Wasn’t sure he was going to make it home,” you say. Eddie slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gives you a small smile. His eyes catch on the chocolate shake in your hands, and you hold it out to him. “Got you this. Thought you might need it.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says as he accepts the treat. 

“How’d it go?” you ask.

Eddie heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “Pretty much how I expected it to. She left for the night—went God knows where. Says she’ll be back tomorrow for her things.”

As tense as things are between you and Eddie, you can’t help but step forward and place a comforting hand on his shoulder, rubbing over the thin material of his t-shirt. “I’m sorry. I can't imagine how hard it was for you.”

“The conversation? Yeah. Doing it? Nah. That wasn’t hard,” he says with a shrug. “How were the boys?”

You both know they were fine, but you take the hint that Eddie doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He lifts the shake to his mouth and your eyes catch on his hand. At the bare ring finger. The sight makes your tummy do a weird flip that you’re not sure how to interpret. 

“They—They were fine. Good,” you say. “I, um, I should go now. Jess is probably wondering where I am.” You grab your keys and head for the door. 

“Wait!” Eddie calls out, a bit louder than he’d meant to. “Sorry. I just wanted you to know that there’s no time limit on…on us. I mean, if it’s a definite no, I’ll shut up and leave you alone...”

“Eddie,” you smile, more genuinely than before. “You’ve never shut up before, and I don’t expect you to start now.”

“You know what I mean though, right?”

“I do,” you agree. “And I need time to think, but it’s…we’re not off the table.”

Eddie grins; he has to stop himself from picking you up and spinning you around in celebration. “I can live with that,” he says finally. 

“You’d better.”

Sure enough, Brittany comes back the next morning to pack more of her clothes. She briefly kisses Luke and Ryan hello, shooting a glare at Eddie that could kill.

“I’m giving you until Friday to move out,” she snarls once the boys are out of earshot. “We can figure out custody shit with the lawyer, but I think it’s best for them to be in the house for now. With me,” she adds pointedly.

Eddie sighs, exhausted from just the prospect of arguing. “Fine,” he concedes, “but just because I’m moving out doesn’t mean I’m not gonna fight like hell for them.” He zips up his coveralls and calls out for the kids to put their shoes on before they miss the bus.

“Whatever, Eddie,” Brittany rolls her eyes, slipping on her blazer and her nametag. “You know they won’t take kids from their mom. You’ll just get every other weekend like the rest of the loser dads.” 

Eddie takes the week to pack up his things, a pit in his stomach as he gets to the photos on his nightstand. The one of him and Brittany can go in the trash, but his heart pangs at the framed picture of his boys. The thought of waking up in the morning without them right down the hall is enough to make him cry.

“No,” he tells himself, “I’m gonna get custody of them. Full custody.” He can picture a new little home with you, Luke, and Ryan. And maybe another baby Munson or two, if you’re willing.

He makes plans with Steve to stay with him and his family, but on Friday morning, an exasperated phone call thwarts his plans.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve coughs into the phone, and Eddie winces when he hears how sick his friend sounds. “The whole Harrington bunch has the flu. It’s like an infirmary here.” He laughs softly, resulting in another round of hacking coughs. “I don’t think we’re quite up for visitors right now. I’m sorry, man.”

“S’okay,” Eddie grumbles. “Feel better.” He doesn’t have time to figure out new plans before he has to get to work, so he’ll just have to brainstorm through his oil changes today. 

When you pick the kids up from school that afternoon, you immediately notice how quiet both boys are—especially Ryan. You’re almost positive you know the reason why, but you debate with yourself the whole ride back to the house if you should say anything. 

Luke seems to be in a better mood once he gets a snack in him. He sits on the couch, little legs tucked up underneath his body as he munches on graham crackers and watches Scooby Doo. Ryan is still noticeably glum though, sitting at the kitchen table, his finger tracing random patterns on the green tabletop. 

“Hey,” you say, taking the seat next to him. There’s no way you can just stand by and see this sweet boy feel so lousy. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? If something is bothering you or is on your mind. Anything.”

Ryan nods his head, and you think he’s going to stay silent. But after a few moments he lifts his head up towards you, his large brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I don’t want to live here with Mom.”

It’s not what you expected to come out of his mouth. Any variation of “mom and daddy are breaking up” is what you thought you were going to hear. 

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Ryan sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Any other time you’d correct him for it, but the least you could do is let it pass. 

“Daddy said Mom is staying here and Luke and I can’t come with him yet. He’s going to stay with Uncle Steve and it’s not fair because I know they have a big house and I’m little enough to share a room with Daddy. But he said me or Luke can’t.” 

Releasing a sigh, you wrap your arm around Ryan’s shoulders. It’s times like these where you don’t feel like the adult you legally have been for years. When you were a kid you thought adults always knew the right thing to say. Now you know that’s bullshit. 

“Oh, Ryan.” You press a kiss to the top of his head. “You know Daddy would give anything to have you both with him, don’t you? You know how much he loves you.”

“More than Mom does,” Ryan says matter-of-factly. It breaks your heart that he knows that at only seven years old. And you can’t bring yourself to lie to the boy by refuting the claim. 

“Daddy loves you so much,” you reiterate. “And I love you.”

“Hey,” Ryan says with a small smile. “You used Daddy’s trick, too.” 

“Look at that,” you say. “And I didn’t even mean to. I was just telling you the truth about how much I love you.” You pull him into a hug, and he climbs in your lap. The only other time he’s done this before was when he was sick, so you know he desperately needs the comfort. “Hey, I’ve got you. Everything is going to be okay.” Cradling him against your body, you rest your head on top of his. 

By the time Eddie gets home, both of the boys are crashed on the couch with you, one tucked on either side as Toy Story plays on the television. Their father looks wrung out as he steps inside, bags under his eyes and exhaustion worn into lines on his face. Both boys jump up and run to him like normal, but the way they cling to him this time is more desperate and needy. It brings a stinging pressure behind your eyes, and you have to blink it away.

“Hey!” Eddie says, attempting to be cheerful for them. “There’s my boys! How was your day?”

“Okay,” Ryan says at the same time that Luke shrugs. Eddie kisses both of their heads before unzipping his coveralls and giving you a small, weary smile. 

You’re not sure why, but you get the urge to stand up and follow Eddie down the hallway. He raises an eyebrow when you follow him into his room. Your eyes take in the boxes around the cleared-out space before looking back to him.

“Are you okay?” 

“Uh,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Hanging in there, I guess.” He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Gotta blow some cash on a hotel though ‘cause the Harrington clan got the flu.” 

You frown at that. The offer is on the tip of your tongue, but you take a moment to consider it. Is it a good idea? Sure, the tension has eased a bit between the two of you over the course of the week, but it’s still there. It’s not that you feel awkward around him, exactly, it’s more of a yearning that you’re trying to keep in check. But you still love him, and you don’t want to see him wasting his money or spending time all alone holed up in some hotel.

“Eddie, don’t do that. Save your money. Come stay with me.”

His jaw drops and a rough chuckle falls from his mouth. “Sweetheart—you, you don’t have to do this. Really, it’s fine.”

Taking a step closer, you grab one of Eddie’s hands in your own. “You’re about to be a single dad to two growing boys. And paying a lawyer to try and get custody. Come on, just stay with me.” 

Eddie sighs, your logic wearing him down. Finally, he nods his head and licks over his lips. “Okay. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, it’s okay,” you tell him. “As long as you’re not wearing your dirty coveralls, you’re more than welcome to sleep next to me.” 

He sticks his tongue out at you. “My coveralls don’t make the cut, but you’re fine after being around germ machines all day?”

“They’re your germ machines!” you remind him.

When Brittany gets home, she completely ignores you. “You can go now,” she says to her soon-to-be-ex-husband. “Is your stuff packed already?” Eddie nods, but she’s already walked past him. 

“Boys, come say goodbye to your dad!” Brittany calls out half-heartedly. Eddie cringes at the way it sounds: your dad. Not dad, the father of this family; now he’s an outsider in his own home. 

Ryan and Luke trudge out of their rooms. “Daddy,” Luke asks softly, “can you stay? Please? You can sleep in my room if you don’t want to be near Mom.”

Eddie blinks back tears. “I’m sorry, bud,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. “That’s real nice of you to offer, though.”

“I love you, Daddy.” Ryan throws his arms around his dad, squeezing him tight. “‘M gonna miss you.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie forces out a chuckle, “I’m moving out; I’m not dead.” He looks up at you, and you give him a small, encouraging smile. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can go to the park, yeah?”

“All of us?” asks Ryan. 

“Um,” Eddie clears his throat, “I don’t know if Mom will—”

“No,” Ryan shakes his head. “I meant…” He looks at you, and you’re taken aback. 

“I don’t want to interrupt your father-son bonding time,” you gently tease, trying not to overstep your bounds. 

“But we want you to come!” Luke protests, glancing at Ryan for confirmation, who nods. “You can play tag with us. Daddy’s too old.”

“Excuse me, sir!” Eddie gasps. “Could an old man do this?” He takes each boy in one arm and throws them over his shoulder. They’re giggling and kicking their feet; Luke narrowly misses Eddie’s groin. “Hey, be careful of the family jewels,” he warns, making them laugh even harder. 

When he sets them down, he looks them square in the eyes. “Tomorrow. Playground. The four of us. And I will kick your little butts in tag. Got it?”

“Got it!” the boys echo, giving him one last hug before going back to play. 

You turn to Eddie. “Y’okay?” you ask him, though it seems like a dumb question. 

“Getting there,” he admits, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder and managing a smile. “Let’s hit the road.”

Eddie throws his bag in his van and climbs in. He follows you as you drive to your apartment and pulls into the parking space next to you. When Eddie steps out of his van, you can tell he’d been crying on the drive over, but you can’t blame him one bit. 

Jess is sitting on the couch when the two of you walk in, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and Pretty Woman playing on the television. Her hand freezes halfway to her mouth, a few kernels of popcorn stuck between her fingers and her jaw hanging open.

“Hi, again,” Eddie says, giving her a sheepish smile. Jess raises her other hand in greeting, eyes darting over to look at you. 

“Yeah, we uh, we’ve got a house guest for now,” you say, cheeks getting warm. You gesture for Eddie to go ahead of you, into your room. Jess raises her eyebrows at you when you walk past, and you playfully swat at her before following in behind him. Closing the door, you lean against it as you watch Eddie drop his duffel onto your floor. 

“You hungry?” you ask. Eddie shrugs and slides his hands into his pockets. You huff a laugh and roll your eyes. “Eddie, we have food. I can make something.”

“Don’t wanna put you out any more than I am,” he says, shrugging again. 

“So, what? You’re not going to eat the whole time you’re here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and walk over, tugging on the zipper of his leather jacket. “You’re also allowed to take your jacket off, ya know? We don’t make our guests sweat or starve themselves to death.”

“Such a good hostess,” Eddie says with a playful smirk. 

“Oh, come on.” You open your bedroom door and walk out to the kitchen, waiting as Eddie trails along behind you. Pursing your lips, you open the freezer and peer inside. “Should we have ice cream sundaes for dinner?”

“Oh, the boys would be so jealous.” Eddie chuckles and reaches in to grab the ice cream. You put two bowls down on the counter and Eddie starts scooping as you grab any toppings you can find. Whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate chips, cherries, and chocolate sauce. Eddie dips his finger in the chocolate sauce and puts a dot of it on your nose. He laughs when you go cross eyed trying to look at it. 

“Whipped cream, please,” you say, holding your hand out. The sound of the spout spraying out the airy cream meets your ears before you feel the cold stickiness hitting your palm. “I meant the can!”

Eddie’s smirk falls from his face as you lick the whipped topping from your hand, instantly realizing he walked right into you teasing him like that. It hadn’t been your intention to tease him though, and you feel your face warm up as you swallow the mouthful. Neither of you having eaten in hours, you inhale the sundaes, and Eddie manages to only get brain freeze once. You put the empty bowls in the sink to be washed later, and Eddie says he’s going to take a quick shower. As you grab a towel for him, you tease him about making sure he gets all the dirt from his coveralls off his body. He tugs on a strand of your hair before heading into the bathroom.

Even though it’s early, you change into your pajamas and get comfortable on your bed. You pull out your worn copy of Little Women and reread it for what must be the hundredth time. You’re so enraptured by Jo and Laurie’s banter that you don’t even hear the shower turn off. 

“Jesus H. Christ!” Eddie’s voice snaps you from your book. Your jaw nearly drops to the ground when you see him walk in, wearing nothing but the towel around his lithe waist. His curly hair is dripping wet, leaving little water droplets along his bare shoulders as he scrambles for his clothes. “Shit, ‘m sorry. Forgot my suitcase…”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, marking your page with an old receipt and closing the book. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Eddie blushes, and it’s simultaneously the cutest and sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. “Y-Yeah, but we’re not doing, um, that anymore, so…” He grabs a clean pair of boxers and plaid pajama pants. “I’ll just get changed in the bathroom.” 

He comes back without a shirt on, and you cock an eyebrow in amusement. “Forget something?” you ask, trying to play it cool and not salivate at the sight of his tattooed chest. 

“Oh, yeah…” he grins sheepishly. “I usually get too warm to sleep with a shirt, b-but I can put one on if you’d feel more comfortable.”

The ache between your legs tells you that something else has to happen to alleviate your discomfort, but you push away that thought. “Nah, I’d rather sleep next to a shirtless Eddie than a sweaty one.” But that’s bullshit; you’d sleep next to any version of him you could get. 

Eddie flips you off before climbing into bed. “Longest week of my life,” he mutters. His arm instinctively snakes around your waist; it isn’t until you move to flick off your lamp that he realizes. “Fuck, ‘m just so used to holding you.” He starts to pull away, but you hold his hand in place. 

“You can hold me…if you want to,” you murmur, sliding deeper under the covers. “Y’don’t have to.”

But Eddie’s already tugging your back to his chest. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” His voice is muffled, face nuzzled against your shoulder blade. “Oh, and don’t mind him if he’s excited in the morning. He has a mind of his own.”

You throw his words back at him. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

A comfortable silence fills the air as you lay in his arms. He presses tiny kisses along your shoulders, making you shiver. 

“Eddie?” Your voice is so small that even you barely hear it. “Can I ask you something?” You adjust yourself so that you’re facing him, your nose touching his. His big hands fall to your thighs, and he rubs his thumb along them as he waits for you to elaborate. “The other day, when you said you love me…why?”

His face scrunches up in confusion. “Why did I say it? Or why do I love you?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Well,” he starts, bringing one palm up to cup your cheek, “I love you because you treat me and my boys with love, kindness, and respect. I love you because you make me smile on my worst days. Saying goodbye to Ryan and Luke tonight…I thought my heart was gonna break in half. But then you were there, and I knew everything would be all right. Maybe not right now, but it will be. You give me hope. And I haven’t felt that for a long time.” He offers you a little smile. “And I told you because you deserve to know how fucking loved you are.”

His confession leaves you breathless; it takes you a moment to process it all. “Eddie Munson, the fact that anyone made you question your worth…” you trail off, shaking your head. That isn’t what this is about. “You make me happy. I never knew that one person could be so kind, so thoughtful, so loving. And your boys…God, they’re just the best kids, all because of you. They see what a gentle, sensitive man you are, and they’re not afraid to show that side of themselves.”

“I’m actually very burly,” he pouts. “Dunno why you’re painting me as this big ol’ softy.”

“You’re right; I’m sorry,” you giggle. “You’re the toughest, grittiest guy I know. You could fight a kangaroo and win.” You feel his fingertips dig into your hips as he brings you even closer to him. “And those are just some of the reasons why…why I love you, Eddie.”

Even in the dim lighting of your darkened room you can see the way Eddie’s face lights up at your words. If your stomach wasn’t already a flurry from finally telling him how you feel, it would be from the sheer joy in his expression. 

“Say it again,” Eddie pleads, hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Please.”

“I love you, Eddie.” His smile is contagious as you mirror it, saying the words that have long been on your heart. 

“I love you, too.” 

It’s far from your first kiss, but as the two of you lean in towards one another, the electricity crackles in the air around you. There’s a giddiness and an earnesty when your lips touch that sends a shockwave through your body. It’s not your first kiss but it’s your first kiss since you’ve declared your love for one another. That makes it your favorite kiss of all. 

Eddie rests his forehead against yours, hand sliding down to your neck and his thumb brushing over your pulse point. Goosebumps break out on your skin beneath his touch, and he chuckles as he feels them against his fingertips. 

“Can’t believe you react that way because of me,” he says. “I feel like all of this is too good to be true.” 

You nod, your hand coming up to rest on top of his black widow tattoo, over his heart. “I know what you mean. I felt that way our first night.”

“Mm, but now,” Eddie says, pausing to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “It’s just you and me and nothing has to be hidden. I can take you out, hold your hand in public, kiss you in front of whoever I want—with your permission, of course.”

“What about the boys?” Your hand comes up to play with the damp curls at the base of his neck. “What do we tell them? It might be confusing for them to go straight from ‘Daddy loves Mom’ to ‘Daddy loves our babysitter.’” 

“That wasn’t exactly how it happened,” Eddie says with a breathy chuckle. “More like ‘Daddy stopped loving Mom a long time ago because she’s evil incarnate and then he met the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing woman who stole his heart.’”

“That might be a little tough for them to swallow,” you say, a playful smirk on your lips. 

“Well…” Eddie says, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes. There’s a shy expression on his face and it’s so foreign to his features. “What are we, then? Like, how would you want to describe what we have?” 

It sounds like such a high school question, but it’s important to figure it out and make sure you’re both on the same page. Husband and wife? your brain thinks automatically. You feel like you’re going to have to constantly kick yourself in the ass to make sure you don’t get ahead of yourself.

“Hmm,” you hum. “Well, you mentioned taking me out. Why don’t you ask me on a proper first date?”

“God, I haven’t done that since high school,” Eddie says.

“Didn’t they call it courting back then? You know, in the 1920’s?”

Eddie smirks and his hands instantly attach to your sides, tickling you until you’re a squealing, squirming mess below him. 

“Okay, so how about for our first date I take you to the bingo hall?” Eddie’s flat voice makes you giggle even harder. You drop your forehead to his shoulder and cuddle your body closer to his. 

“Nope,” you say, popping the p. “M’not 21 yet. Can't gamble.”

“Or drink,” Eddie realizes, his eyes widening. “Holy shit, I’m dating a Cabbage Patch Kid.”

A blush comes to your cheeks as you laugh, deciding not to point out that there is in fact a Cabbage Patch doll sitting in the corner of your room. “So, we’re dating, huh?”

“I guess we will be once I think of a perfect place to take you,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“And ask me,” you remind him, raising your eyebrows. 

“Right, right.” Eddie clears his throat. “Sweetheart, would you make me the happiest metal head this side of the Mississippi and accompany me on a date next Friday?”

Pursing your lips, you pretend to think his offer over. His eyes narrow at you as the silence stretches on.

“I would be honored, Edward.”

His nose wrinkles up at the formality of his full name. “Ugh, that sounds so snobby. Edward.”

“Hmm,” you tease. “How about Edwin? Edmund? Edgar?”

“Uh, no.”

“Oedipus?”

“Isn’t that the guy who fucked his mom and killed his dad?”

The rest of the night is like this; being silly and sneaking kisses as you cuddle up into each other. You feel so safe against Eddie’s chest, enveloped in his warmth. You start to drift off to sleep, but your rest is disrupted by his constant tossing and turning.

“Something on your mind?” You try to keep your voice light, but you can’t help the concern that seeps through.

Eddie slips his arm around your waist, thrumming his fingers along your hip. “Can’t stop thinking about my boys,” he murmurs. “I just wish they were here, too. Hate knowing that I won’t wake up in the morning to them fighting over Hot Wheels.”

You sigh, debating whether or not to tell him what you know. “I talked to Ryan today,” you begin, hoping you’re doing the right thing, “and he said that he wants to live with you. Not, um, her. He was sad that he and Luke had to stay in the house and not come with you.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s silent, processing what he’s just heard. “That makes me feel good, I guess. Too bad a judge won’t care.”

“What do you mean?” You prop yourself up on your elbow, facing him.

“She said that dads usually just get every other weekend, holidays, y’know,” he bites his lip nervously, and you kiss it to distract him. “I mean, I’m glad they don’t hate me, but it makes me sad that they’ll have to be with her if they don’t want to be.”

You shake your head. “Eddie, the boys–especially Ryan–are old enough that a judge will listen to what they want. And if they tell him or her that they’re more comfortable living with their dad, you might be able to get full custody.” He’s still quiet, so you press on. “I know you don’t want them being too involved in it, but it might be worth it if it means they get to be with you.”

Eddie caresses your cheek, a smile spreading across his face. “How do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Make me happy. Make me realize that everything will be okay.” He kisses your forehead lightly before yawning, finally able to relax. “I fuckin’ love you, baby. Sweet dreams.”

Waking up next to Eddie is the best feeling in the world. And he wasn’t lying about his morning…situation. You can feel his hard length pressing up against your thigh as he softly snores. You know you should probably wait until your first official date, but you haven’t stopped craving him since your last time together, back at the auto shop. Before you can stop yourself, you’re kissing his neck, the slight stubble that’s formed overnight scratching your cheek.

“Hey, sugar,” he murmurs sleepily. “What’s gotten into you, hm?”

“Missed you,” you manage, wrapping your leg around his so they’re intertwined. 

He chuckles, voice groggy and deeper than usual. “Missed me? ‘M right here.” His eyebrows shoot up when you reach down and gently graze his morning wood. “Oh, shit,” he hisses, “baby, if you touch me there…”

“I know,” you say between kisses. “I want you to. Please.”

Eddie’s fingertips dig into your side. “Y’know I can’t turn you down when you beg for me like that,” he growls, hooking a finger into the waistband of your lace panties and tugging them off. Before you can ask him for more, he’s diving beneath the sheets, bringing his lips to your inner thighs, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting.

“St-stop teasing me, Eds,” you whimper. He’s so fucking close to where you need him to be, yet too far away. You can see the outline of his head as he gives a little nod, plunging between your legs. He licks a stripe up your folds, breathing heavily as he tastes you.

“You’re fuckin’ delicious,” he says, words vibrating along your core. “Could eat this pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, shit.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say, one hand fisting your sheet as Eddie’s tongue licks up another stripe. The other hand snakes its way into his messy curls, and he moans when you pull his hair.

 He brings his lips to your clit and sucks on it, grinning as he senses you writhing against him. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he teases, slipping a finger inside your aching sex. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you whine, trying not to buck up your hips, but your efforts are fruitless. Eddie’s on a mission to make you come as many times as he possibly can, and he’s making no attempt to hide it. You feel a second thick finger enter your pussy, stretching you slightly. His fingers pump in and out of you, his tongue keeping a relentless pace on your clit. The overstimulation from his mouth and hand pushes you over the edge, and you cry out his name over and over as you finish.

Eddie throws the sheet over his head, grinning widely. His chin is covered in your slick, and he wears it proudly. “That’s one,” he announces. “Ready for another?”

“Y-Yes, please.”

“Y’ask so nice for me, babe.” 

Blushing at his sweet words, you turn your head to hide your face in your pillow. Eddie tuts and gently tugs your chin until you’re looking up at him again. He chuckles at your shy look, leaning down to press slow kisses along your throat. 

“I love you, baby,” he mumbles against your skin. 

“I love you too, Eddie.” You feel his hips align with yours, and your jaw drops open at the pleasurable stretch as he begins to push inside of you. 

“Shit,” Eddie groans. “Missed your tight little pussy.” 

Your fingers clutch at his back, nails sure to leave some raised pink scratches by the time you’re done. “S’big,” you moan. “Don’t know if I can take it all.”

“You can,” he reassures you, going in deeper until he bottoms out. “You’re gonna take it all f’me. ‘M gonna fill you up s’good. Just please, gotta let me move, baby doll.” His eyes are pleading, desperate to rut up inside you.

“Can move, Eddie,” you say, nodding your head. The words have barely left your lips before he’s withdrawing, just to thrust back into you. A gasp leaves your lips as he fills you to the hilt again. It may have only been about a week since you’d slept together, but it felt like an eternity without having him inside of you. 

“Love you,” you say in between moans, and Eddie’s hips pick up the pace at your words.

“Love you, too. Fuck, baby, you keep saying that and this isn’t going to last as long as I want it to.” He huffs a breathy laugh and rests his forehead against yours. 

“That a challenge?” you ask with a smirk.

“Uh uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “M’gonna make you come over and over.” As if to prove his point, he slips two fingers into your mouth, putting pressure on your tongue. “Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby. I know what that pretty mouth can do.”

Slipping your eyes closed, you swirl your tongue around his fingers, moaning around his thick digits. You open your eyes and meet Eddie’s dark gaze, his attention focused solely on your face as his hips keep snapping against yours. Once you release his fingers with a sharp pop, he brings them down to your clit, rubbing in a tight circle. 

A whine escapes your lips as you throw your head back, neck arching and exposed to the man above you. Eddie leans in and attaches his lips to the side of your throat, sucking and biting at the skin, determined to leave you with a mark that won’t fade any time soon. 

“Close, Eddie,” you say, hands coming up to tangle in his long curly locks again. 

“Come on, baby,” Eddie urges. “Gimme another one.” 

You do as he says, arching your back and wrapping your legs around the bottom of his ass and pulling him even deeper inside you. “‘M coming, all f’you.” He nods, slowing his pace slightly and allowing you to come down slightly.

“S’fucking beautiful when you come on my cock,” he muses. “Want one more from you. Can you handle that? Just one more?”

“One more,” you murmur, already fucked out from two back-to-back orgasms.

“Thas’ my good girl.” 

“C-Come with me this time?” you ask, voice hoarse. Tears prick at your eyes, and you wipe them away before he can notice.

“Aww,” Eddie coos, “did I wear my girl out?”

His taunting lights a fire inside you, and you smirk. “Actually, I want you deeper.”

“Fuck,” he throws his head back, withdrawing from you. He chuckles darkly when you hiss at the loss. “The faster you get on your hands and knees, the faster I can be back inside you.”

Muscles weak and protesting the movement, you force yourself to ignore it and do as Eddie says. His hands grab your hips, rough calloused fingers running over your smooth skin. 

“Mm, what a nice view,” Eddie admires as he removes one hand from your body to line his cock up with your hole. He teases you, sliding his length up and down your slit as you drop your head forward. Your whines only encourage him as he watches your hole flutter around nothing. 

“Please, Eddie,” you beg. 

“Anything for my needy girl,” Eddie says, and you don’t need to be looking at him to know there’s a smirk on his face. He slides back inside of you and your arms give out, upper body landing on your pillow. Your fingers scratch at your purple pillowcase as he slams into you. The repeated motion of his hips has the headboard banging against the wall and his heavy balls slapping against your clit. 

“Fuck, baby,” you breathe out. “So deep. So, so deep.”

“Tell me how it feels, princess. How’s it make my girl feel?” Eddie’s hand grabs onto your ass and slides it up your back. 

“So full,” you answer. “Love when you’re inside me.” The pressure of him against your walls has you clenching around his length. “Spank me, Eddie. I’ve been a bad girl.”

Eddie’s hips stutter; you’ve never caught him off-guard like this before. His palm meets your ass with a small whack, but it’s nothing compared to what you need. 

“No, harder. You won’t hurt me.”

A string of swear words slips from his lips as he smacks the fat of your ass with more power, leaving a stinging print. “More?” But he can’t follow through before he stammers, “fuck—shit—‘m coming.” His dick twitches, and he moans as he finishes. “Come with me; want you to cream my cock while I fuck you full of me. Want you to take all my cum, thassagoodgirlfuckfuckfuck.” He spills into you, continuing to thrust. “Take it, take it all. So fuckin’ good f’me, taking all my cum. Bet you want me to knock you up, don’t you?” The words leave his mouth before he can catch them. 

The thought of having Eddie’s baby normally makes you feel all kinds of ways; imagining him tenderly kissing your bump or staring at your newly-larger breasts in awe. It’s all pretend for now, at least until you graduate. 

Thank God for birth control, you think. But then your whole body freezes up. 

In all of last night’s excitement, you’d forgotten to take your pill. 

“Shit!” you cry out, pulling away from him. But it’s too late; you can feel his release dripping down your leg. You turn to him, misty-eyed, and explain the situation. 

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” Eddie smiles, laying down and motioning for you to snuggle into his chest. “Would it be so bad? Having my baby?”

You shake your head. “I-I want your baby,” you admit, “but I gotta get my degree, get a job…” You gaze up at him incredulously. “You really mean it when you say you wanna get me pregnant? It’s not just dirty talk?”

Eddie laughs, putting his arm around you and pulling you closer. “Baby, if you only knew how many times I’ve gotten off thinkin’ about knocking you up…” He clicks his tongue. “Turns me on so…damn…bad…” he muses, punctuating the last three words with kisses to your neck. 

“Easy there; you just wore me out,” you giggle. “We should be okay. I can take two now, and I’m just a few days from getting my period.” You laugh harder when he frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re grossed out by periods!”

“No, but we can’t…y’know, practice making a baby while…” he pouts, and you tuck his hair behind his ears. 

“I don’t mind a little mess if you don’t,” you shrug. “Besides, orgasms help with cramps.”

His eyes light up. “Consider me your personal heating pad, then.”

You roll your eyes and swing your legs out of bed. “C’mon, we promised the boys we’d take them to the park.”

Eddie groans, overdramatically, and holds his hands over his heart as if he’s been shot. “You found it, baby. Literally the only thing that could get me out of bed with you.” 

This time when you roll your eyes, there’s a fond smile on your face as well. “I’m sure the boys would be glad to know that they’re prioritized over getting laid.”

“Well, first of all,” Eddie says as he scoops up his boxers from where they’d be kicked on the floor. “It’s not just getting laid. It’s having sex with you. Totally different, we’re making love now. Officially!” His face radiates joy as he jumps around, sliding his boxers up. “Because, you know, you said you love me and all. Remember that?”

Turning around from where you were digging some underwear out of your drawer, you put your hands on Eddie’s chest and smile up at him, placatingly. “I do remember. And I remember you saying you love me too. But the boys are still more important.”

Eddie laughs and presses a kiss to your hair. “They’ll understand when they’re older.”

Playfully, you shove him off of you, which only makes him grab you around the waist and pull you up against his body. You’re squealing as you try to get away from him, to collect your clothes for the day. But, unable to shake him, you settle for him helping you get dressed. 

“Can I stay here until the Harrington quarantine is lifted?” he asks, suddenly shy. 

You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your chest to his. “Baby, you can stay here forever.” 

[asarajaa]

can I get some headcanons about jealous Kenma?? Thank you!!

Sure! Hope you like it <3!

Warnings: gn!reader Words: 565 Disclaimer: English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Jelous Kenma hcs

₊˚ෆ I don't think Kenma is the jelousy type tbh.

₊˚ෆ But sometimes he has insecurities because, look at you, how is it that you-a beautiful, incredible, gorgeous (and the list goes on) person- ended up with a guy like him?

₊˚ෆ The boy thinks that you're out of his league and that he's so lucky to have you.

₊˚ෆ However, if you're ignoring him, well, that's different.

₊˚ෆ At first, he doesn't notice beacuse, why would you ignore him?

₊˚ෆ But once he does- proceed with caution.

₊˚ෆ This boy will make anything to caught your attention.

₊˚ෆ There was this time when you decided to try videogames, but no Kenmas videogames, no, otome videogames.

You were just chilling in your boyfriends bed, scrolling through social media while your boyfriend was playing in his computer until you saw this new viral otome game. In your boredom, you decided to give it a try and- omg

What is this thing and where was it your whole life???

The hours went by and you were just giggling and moving while playing with your phone. After failing the mission for the 34th time in a row, Kenma decided to have a little break.

Kenma lay down on his bed only to find you 100% focused on your phone. At first, he though you were only watching a video and when the video's over you'll give him attention.

With that in mind, he waited patiently on the other side of his bed for you to notice him. But when the minutes went by and you weren't paying him any attention, he though he had enough.

"Uhm, babe? What are you watching?" he asked calmly, with no signs that he wanted your attention because he's not attention starved.

(Oh, but he is)

You shuddered and give a small jump "Kenma? I didn't notice you" you said while you returned your gaze back to the game, his brow furrowing. "What were you saying?" you asked.

"I asked you what were you watching" he repetead himself.

"Actually, I'm talking to a guy of this ne- oh my god" you let out a giggle while your fingertips were tapping.

His brow furrowed more because who were you talking to and why was he more important than him, your boyfriend?

"A guy? I know him?" he asked, moving closer to you.

"I don't think so?" you chuckle imagine your boyfriend playing the otome game "His name is Zach, he's 24 and has electric blue eyes with baby blue hair" you gave him hints, hoping that he'd hear of him since he's the main male lead of the game.

"Who on this earth has baby blue hair' Like-"

"Shoyo has orange hair."

"..."

"..."

"...Do you want me to dye my hair baby blue?"

"Baby- What?" you asked shocked, what on earth was he talking a- oh.

Oh.

"Are you jelous?" you were teasing him.

"..."

" You know I'm p-playing an otome-game, r-right?" you were trying your best to not laugh but his cute red face was not helping.

He quietly gets up of the bed and started walking towards his computer.

Now you were laughing.

"B-Baby! Wait! I didn't mean to but-"

₊˚ෆ He thinks that's the most embarassed time he's ever been.

₊˚ෆ Kenma will start playing videogames again like nothing happend.

₊˚ෆ At the end, you had to cuddle with him and explain him all the situation, while you tried your best to not laugh.

Thank you all for sending request! I'm so happy to do them!

Please, tell me your opn about this one, I really appreciate if you guys comment on how can I improve <3

26/04/24

© asarajaa — Please, do not copy, translate or reuse my work without my permission.

[simpingland]

The punch and the car.// Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Modern Au! Jacaerys Strong never liked the girl his mother adopted, and made his life's mission to let her know that. But years past and reader can't handle that much hate from someone as intense as him. Baela and Rhaena have an idea.

TW: smut and angst a bit of fluff! P in v, masturbation (female receiving), unprotected sex. Someone gets a punch.

-----------------------------------

As you had told her, the din of the overly loud music drilled into your brain. But your friend Rhaena's enthusiasm to see you and Baela out of your routine made up for it all. It was overwhelmingly crowded, but even so, her beautiful white hair made her stand out from the crowd and she ran to give you a hug.

"I can't believe you came, I thought you said yes to shut me up," said the girl with the sweetest smile.

"I never break a promise," Baela replied earnestly. Always with her dignity and honour.

"And I see you have convice our girl as well," she addressed you.

"Well, I'm afraid Baela threatened me if I didn't come..." that was absolutely true.

"That's how I made sure there was someone around who I liked" she justified herself.

You smiled at her, Baela had always been like a big sister to you, protective and loving in her own way. And Rhaena was also one of your favourite people, she knew how to boost your self-esteem and transmit energy. Maybe the party wouldn't be so bad.

"Baela!" someone shouted from afar.

You changed your mind after a second, from now on everything would be bad. The voice belonged to Jacaerys Velaryon, Baela and Rhaena's cousin, a.k.a 'Jace' to friends, which he always reminded you you weren't.

"What are you doing at a party, and out of rugby uniform? I don't think I've seen you in a skirt in years..." he hugged his cousin, smiling with those dimples. Then he saw you. "Oh...and you came too."

"Jacaerys..." you replied. "I'm surprised you saw me, I thought you'd be drunk as a skunk by now."

"I could hear your little voice beeping over the vibrations of the glasses as soon as you came in," he tried to mock.

"The plastic cups you mean?"

He fell silent, sighed and refocused on his cousins.

"I hope you're having a good time, cousin, I've got to go and get the playlist ready. It's my turn to DJ in a bit!"

The twins congratulated him and let him go, Jace gave them flirtatious winks before giving you a sidelong glance, as if he suspected you were going to nudge him at any moment. When he finally disappeared, Rhaena started waving to people and you and Baela decided to go get the first drink of the night.

"'I could hear your little voice beeping over the vibrations', ugh, what a clown..." you grumbled in Baela's ear.

"Oh, no. Don't start." She stopped concentrating on choosing liquor to look at you.

"Start what?"

"Complaining about Jace for anything. It's a tiring subject, both sides."

"He complains about me too?"

"Of course he does. He's always asking about you, like he's waiting to know something so he can complain even about things he hasn't lived through."

"Do you guys talk shit about me during training?"

Baela and Jacaerys were in different years at university and didn't study the same subjects (Baela studied sports, Jace politics and geography), but what they did share was a rugby training routine. Both were great players, and from a young age they had found a strong friendship through sport.

"No, I can mention to him, I don't know, things like we went shopping for panties last week and he finds a way to complain about you, asking me about you and overreacting to everything I tell him."

"Don't tell him about my panties, Baela!"

"It was an example..." lie, you had gone panty shopping, and Baela would most likely have told him about it because she doesn't think much of such things as embarrassing. "The thing is, I've had enough. I'm here today to get drunk and have fun."

She turned her attention back to her drink.

"So...you think I have an annoying voice?"

When she filled her drink twice as much, you took it for granted that her level of irritation had been overcome. You took pity on her and let her dance alone until you saw her stop to dance with a companion of hers. Perhaps the best idea was to walk around, and say hello to everyone you had even the slightest interaction with. And it seemed to work, albeit short greetings, nods or smiles, but no one stopped you to talk. As you sipped your drink, looking around the huge fraternity house, someone came up to your ear.

"Don't you have any friends here?" You were ready to smile at him, but you recognised Jace, though you didn't know whether by his voice or his smell.

"I'm looking for someone, actually," you lied. "You don't have anyone to hang out with to complain about me?"

"I'm afraid no one here cares that much about you."

That hurt. It would have been easy to reemphasize how obsessed Jace seemed to be with you, but it had crossed the fine line where you just wanted to cry because his insistence had made you want to hit him. Maybe it was true, maybe there was no one who cared about you as much. He must have noticed something in your eyes, his twisted smile disappeared, but because Jace couldn't stand to empathise with you, he decided to get angry.

"Oh, don't tell me you're going to be like that," he said.

"I don't even know why I bother to talk to you."

And you disappeared, turning your back on him. If he said anything else, you didn't hear it, the music was drilling into your head so much that you decided to finish your drink in two gulps, trying to numb your brain.

It hadn't always been like this with Jace, you just had trouble remembering the good times because the boy had made things difficult for you from moment one. From a very young age, living in the same house where Rhaenyra had lovingly taken you in, Jace had been a good boy, obedient to do his homework, help his brother Luke, and play with his cousins whenever they visited. But with you he was always different. It went from deep affection, sharing daily activities at home like drawing for hours on the same floor, dressing up and playing in the garden on summer mornings, swinging with each other in the park or enjoying cartoons lying on the sofa. But all that changed so drastically in the last years of school that you only had pictures and videos to remember those moments. When Joffrey was born, Rhaenyra began to count on you as a help around the house, while you put up with Jace pulling your hair when no one was looking, or "accidentally" throwing a ball in your direction. Nothing you said seemed right to him and all your good deeds were an attempt to lick his mother's arse. If Rhaenyra hadn't been there, you probably would have cried every night in your bed, but you held out hope for many years that he would grow up, just as Rhaenyra promised you would happen. Worst of all, you could only scold him so much, because Jace was smart. Sure, he talked back to his parents, he went out between days without warning, stories came home about girls he'd been seen hanging out with and doing things with, and he was a dick to you and didn't hide it. But he also passed all his exams with flying colours, he still had that unconditional affection for Luke, Joffrey and his cousins, he was a sportsman on a par with his mother in his youth, he helped his father Harwin whenever he needed him to fix something around the house, and he knew how to make anyone he came across smile.

Meanwhile, you had always felt like an outsider because of him, because the others had gone out of their way to include you. Harwin was a father to you, he had taught you how to drive and showed up at all your music recitals, no matter how bad they were. And Rhaenyra always told you everything. What was going on in her work, what she was talking about with Harwin, what she had discovered in Jace's drawers, or how happy she was to be promoted in her job. She had taught you how to do your hair and had more than kept her promise to your mother after she left this world. And yet, Jace made you feel like that wasn't enough, and at the same time it made you feel selfish. You couldn't just focus on pleasing one person, you couldn't please everyone. But it was frustrating that no one loved you with such passion but you had someone who apparently hated you with such passion.

All that went away from your head as the alcohol took effect, and you got so hot mixed in with the people dancing. You didn't even notice that it was Jace who had gone up to the DJ booth. That he played good music would be one of the things you could never admit to, and on top of that, he was happy to take requests from the pretty girls who piled up to ask him for tunes. You could stand it for a little while, noticing how the odd person approached you with strange intentions. And all of them you brushed aside, ignoring them almost unwillingly, so much on your own that you gave little thought to whether or not to offend others.

As you carried the cup again, an activity you had done a few times already, Jace played one of those songs that irritated you the most, and of course, there were people who agreed with you and there were many more who cheered Jace's choice. The least you deserved was to ask him for a song. So it was to the mixing desk that you headed, awkwardly, with a full glass and clearly drunk. If you pushed someone it was likely, that you cared about it was out of the question. And Jacaerys found it so strange to see you standing there that he gave you some attention, lending his ear for you to speak to him, mind you, with a scowl.

"Play my song!" you shouted at him.

"Your song?" He looked disgusted, and shook his head when you nodded.

"The one before was shit, play my song!"

"I don't take requests...especially not like the shit you want me to play." But hey, he did know what your shit song was...

"Yo do take requests, asshole, and it's a shame you had to learn a whole profession as a dj to get girls to listen to you,"

"Get the fuck out of here before you puke on the table," he snapped.

"Are you calling me a drunk?"

"Clearly you're not?" he mimicked your tone of voice and the dumb expression you must have had at the time.

"I don't talk like that, enough of--" in your anger, the drink had ended up spilling out of the glass and onto the huge, button-strewn table. Jacaerys turned away, but you, panicking and confused, tried to wipe the alcohol off the table. And then sparks flew, and for an instant you felt that intense burning sensation in your fingers. You felt yourself being pulled within seconds, but you couldn't see who it was because the whole house went out. People were soon protesting, shouting and hissing, but all you could smell was Jace so close, his hands in your arms.

The lanterns lit up the room, though the complaints didn't disperse, and loud footsteps sounded overhead.

"Who destroyed the mixer?" the voice shouted. The lights focused on him, surely more than one was recording. His tense and serious face brought you back to your senses a little. Just a little.

"Aemond, I'm so sorry about the table, it was an accident..." apologised Jace, trying not to look nervous.

"I knew accepting you into the fraternity was a mistake. Do you know how expensive the mixer is?" he approached both menacingly, though he wasn't looking at you.

"We're so sorry..." you interjected.

"Shut up and get the hell out of here," snapped the boy everyone knew as Aemond One Eye, a legend on campus and also Jacaerys' uncle.

"Hey..."

"I'll try to pay you back, okay?" Jace slyly placed you behind him, trying not to feel provoked by Aemond. "I'm telling you, it was an accident."

"You'll pay for it? I can already see you whining to your mother to spoil you again for everything you want. No, not this time, I don't want you to pay for it, I want to make it clear what a cunt you are. I don't want you to come back here anymore."

"It was me who did it-" you were interrupted again.

"I have friends here too, Aemond, don't forget that."

"That's because everyone forgets that you and your brothers are the worst scum they can come across. None of them know your brute of a father."

"Leave my father out of this," Jace was on the verge of fisticuffs.

"You're right, I suppose he's been duped by your slut of a mother--"

Then he took a fist, and everyone stifled a scream, and there was the odd brave one who dared to clap. And no, it was not Jacaerys the puncher. So drunk, angry at the interruptions, and even more provoked by the comment, no one had foreseen the blow you threw at Aemond, nor the strength you had hidden. The fact is that the boy started to bleed from the nose, and that applause had perhaps encouraged you too much.

"What the fuck?" Aemond said to you.

"We told you it was an accident. And it wasn't even Jace, you fucker. It was me...yes! Me! And the only scum I see here is you!"

The whispers and the dreads returned, and now there was no more applause. Jace tried to push you away again.

"Don't mind her, she's drunk," Jace excused you.

"I'm not going to hit a woman," Aemond wiped his nose.

"You better" you said and Jace threw you knives through his eyes.

"How brave, Jace" he then exclaimed in a higher tone. "You need a poor girl to cover your back...pitiful."

He then lowered his voice as people seemed to start talking again, commenting on what they had just seen. Someone was able to turn the light back on, and the cheering returned.

"Both of you get out of here right now. If you don't, I'll make sure no one talks to you for the rest of the college." The blond finally whispered.

As you stepped aside, Baela and Rhaena were already there to find out first hand what had happened, and Rhaena saved you from falling straight to the ground.

"Is she drunk?" She asked Jace.

"Clearly...though she's never been very smart."

"Jace, don't be cruel," Baela urged him.

"She needs to throw up, and I'd rather she do it here than in the car," Rhaena looked at her cousin ruefully, you trying to regain the mobility of your fist. "Give us a hand getting her upstairs...please."

Without a word, Jace was able to hoist you onto his back, with Baela and Rhaena watching to make sure you didn't let go and fall down the stairs.

"I think I cracked my finger," you said slurring your words. You held out your hand to Rhena to show her. "Can you see if I've cracked it?"

"I don't have x-ray vision, honey," she replied.

"You punched it with your other hand," Jace corrected you. Only you laughed, clutching his neck again. He still smelled exaggeratedly good and his hair was there for you to sink your face into. But soon you reached the bathroom.

Rhaena grabbed your hair and it wasn't long before you were puking. Outside the bathroom, Jace avoided Baela's gaze, who knew that Aemond's words must have hurt him. And soon your consciousness came back. You rinsed your mouth and rethought your life choices.

"Did I just punch Aemond Targaryen?" You asked the girl. And she nodded at you, smiling. "I just punched Aemond Targaryen!"

And then you smiled, and a little gasp escaped you, leaning out into the hallway to join Baela and Jacaerys.

"I just punched Aemond Targaryen!"

Though Baela was smiling, it was Jace who wanted to burst your little bubble of happiness.

"What you just did is make a fool of me," he cut you off, his tone serious and low, shifting his gaze from the floor to you.

"Hey...I stood up for you." You were instantly out of any joy.

"I didn't need your help, in fact, what I needed was for you not to be here. It was all your fault."

"Aemond would have used any excuse to insult you in front of everyone, no matter what happened, just like you don't need anything to insult me."

"Don't compare me to Aemond! He hates my mother and everything we have. Instead you..." he paused for a moment, frustrated and waving his hands around, not knowing what to squeeze, "you just need to exist to..."

"To hate me?"

Though he didn't answer, he didn't need to. He turned his eyes away from you, and closed his mouth. And then you were overcome with all the ridicule you had always made, not just today. Whatever had been going through his head about you had always mattered little to you. But now you could understand that it was you, your personality and everything that you would never change that bothered him so much. And that confused you more, because if Jacaerys saw you like that, when he was an admirable person in many ways, did that make you a despicable person?

"I'm going back to the flat" you whispered after a few seconds. You started down the stairs, getting as far away from Jace as possible.

"I'll give you a lift" Baela offered.

"No need, I'll walk..."

"No, I'll take you, I don't feel like being here anymore." She grabbed you by the shoulders and made you stop.

"Are you sure?"

"If my friend doesn't have a good time I'll never have a good time...I hope you feel the same way." She winked at you and you smiled a little. "Go to the car, I have to say goodbye to some colleagues."

She left you the keys and you walked alone to the place where you remembered getting off. And opening the door, the warmth of the car comforted you and although you thought you would be grateful for the silence, it brought back the bad memories and your head was spinning again. It took you a while to realise that Baela was taking a long time, but you refused to go back into that house.

Biting your nails in the dark, with a few stealthy tears falling, you half lay down in the back seat, because you always got dizzy in front, as all your friends knew. And when someone opened the door, you were instantly glad to think it was Baela, but it wasn't. The smell was different, and though it was a smell you loved, the presence made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Jacaerys sat in the back seat in awkward silence, and slammed the door shut. He didn't make you step aside, for he shrank back in his seat and turned on the car's light. And even then, he didn't look at you.

"Where's Baela?"

"Inside."

"And... And why are you out?"

"I'm not technically out of a place if I'm inside a car." He replied in a pedantic tone. To that you said nothing, just let out a snort, giving up. "Rhaena told me you'd be here."

You stood silent waiting for him to develop, but he struggled, shaking his leg, making you incredibly nervous.

"If you're going to be like this you might as well have stayed outside. In the open air if you wish me to be more specific..."

With a look of disgust, he opened the door and walked out. And you felt a little silly because the light made you look a little ridiculous in that posture, waiting for someone who wasn't coming and having blown the only chance you had to make amends with Jacaerys. And you watched from the window as he paced back and forth, his coat pulled tight and trying to cheat the cold. You enjoyed watching him for a while, and it wasn't long before he gave up. When he tried to go back inside, you quickly got into his seat, not letting him sit down.

"It must be minus twenty degrees in here, let me in," he demanded.

"You're too much sometimes."

"Please, my nipples are going to turn blue!"

At your hesitation, Jace decided to have his way, sitting down roughly and causing you to pull away. Locked in the car again, Jace took a breath, and finally spoke.

"I don't hate you!" Though from his tone it didn't sound like it. "But it's as simple as that every time I've run into you, you've managed to overshadow everything."

"Jacaerys, we've lived our whole lives together. It's natural for you to hate me--"

"But thats what I'm telling you, that I don't hate you, and that's what irritates me the most. You've been the apple of my mother's eye ever since you were adopted. Her only daughter, while I, the one already there, the eldest, the first-born and the supposed to be the dearest, have always remained in your shadow."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't, you'll never know what it's like to have everyone telling you how great you are while I choke on trying to make someone proud of me. You smile and you have it all."

"I don't know? Listen to yourself, Jacaerys, it's you who only has to smile to get what you want. You're a taciturn, stubborn and rather obtuse about a lot of things and everyone lets you slide because you're the favourite, the handsome, sporty one of the brothers and you get good grades even though no one's ever seen you study." Your raised voice made his eyes widen quite a bit, that or maybe you were moving dangerously towards him.

"I study at night!" he justified himself.

"I know, your mother always thought it was the hours you masturbated but I've always known you studied because you get anxiety about not answering an exam!"

"And you know everything because you are a know-it-all and everyone tells you everything because they want to be your friend!"

"Then why don't you?" That sounded a lot more desperate than you thought it would.

"Because I want to feel like a real leader for once in my life, I want to feel independent and you've never stopped trying to match me. You haven't even let me fight with someone who has insulted me, not you!"

"And you needed to ostracise me for years and remind me how lonely I am to get me to leave you alone?"

Then you stepped back, and the dim light let the two of you watch each other carefully. Your tears had long since passed, but Jacaerys seemed to have them on the verge of coming. And then you felt sorry.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

You said it unwillingly at the same time. Silence returned, and your gazes parted, though you couldn't help but glance sideways at him.

"The worst thing about all this..." he started to say, "is that I like the song you wanted to play too. But I didn't want to play it because it makes a lot of sense that people would have loved it and the wanted to be friends with you, you're someone...quite unforgettable."

"Well, you didn't need to learn the whole DJ thing to get girls' attention." That made him smile a little.

"Luke's not going to believe you called me 'the handsome one of the brothers'," he joked.

"Oh, that's all you got? Now I feel stupid. I'm going to go get Baela," you moved to open the car door, but again, Jace's hands picked you up, pulling you back towards him.

"I know I'm taciturn, stubborn and obtuse, but you know I'm more than that..." he then rested his hands on yours, checking those small burns that had been left over from the accident.

"Of course I know that, Jacaerys..." then you realised how close you were to his face. His greenish eyes were now completely black, and never before had you felt as seen by him as you did at that moment.

"Your fingers must be burning..." he put one of your hands to his lips.

"And you must still be a little cold."

Without quite knowing what was going on, the alcohol reminded you that you were indeed much looser than you were used to, so when Jace kissed your fingers slowly, you couldn't help but caress his lips, which went from cold to incredibly tempting.

As soon as you pulled your hand away, Jace launched himself at your lips, and first it was a strange, slow kiss, soft and silky. Jace smelled so good...and kissed so well...it didn't end there. He pulled you on top of him and continued kissing you, the passion increasing with each kiss. As your tongue entered, your hand moved down to Jace's chest and you felt it grow so close to your own sex. And the music coming from the party so far away seemed to increase in your mind, the movements of the car getting faster and faster.

When you undressed is something you'll never know, but you do remember undressing Jace with that stupid car light on. You were no virgin, but Jace felt so new, and the readjustment he gave you made you feel that instant electricity. And it was you moving up and down, with Jace trying to capture your lips, even though it had been feeling so good for a while that he could barely do anything but moan softly. He knew how to move his hands and his sweat made him look a thousand times more handsome than you'd ever seen him.

"I'm going to cum," he warned you. "Fuck, even for this you're the best..."

"Don't exaggerate," though it brought a smile to your face and red to your cheeks. It didn't take you long to feel that explosion as Jace closed his eyes and caught his breath.

Dismounting from him, the tender kiss that followed surprised you, and you could feel a smile on his lips. You hadn't cum, but the experience had been worth it, though you didn't think about the consequences at the time. Then Jacaerys brought his hand to where you wanted it most, and a moan escaped you in that supposedly high-pitched voice that didn't seem to bother Jace so much now.

"Tell me how you like to be touched," he whispered softly. And you put your hand with his to change the rhythm.

"I like it like this" you replied, his fingers were still a little cold and that made it all the better. You were concentrating but when you opened your eyes your enjoyment increased. Jace's face was pressed to yours, and he kept his eyes on you as he moved his hand without even penetrating you. He looked into your eyes, or he looked at your lips, but he was full of affection for you, for the first time it was only and completely for you.

Then that tingling feeling ran through you from your stomach to each of your fingers and toes, and Jacaerys delighted in seeing you with the favour returned.

And it all ended with another kiss, lacking tongue or eagerness, but full of tenderness that made you forget every single bad thing that had ever happened.

"Your mouth tastes like good weed liquor," he confessed as you got dressed again, his dimples peeking out.

"And yours tastes like rum-cola."

"Clearly I win this one."

Laughing and blushing, you nodded. And before you kissed him again, Baela and Rhaena's voices began to grow closer. And the two of you parted as if it were routine as the car doors opened and closed.

"I'm sorry for the lock-up," apologised Baela. "I hope it's all right."

"It is...it is," you responded.

Jace opened the window, trying to disperse the smell a little, and his attempt at being sneaky was a little too funny to you.

"I'm glad...something smells funny though..."

"Did you know that cars are cleaned on the inside too, Baela?" The twin teased.

The two engaged in an absurd argument that was amusing, but your eyes and mind focused on Jace as he placed his hand gently on your leg, and then turned his palm over to offer it to you. And you took it silently, interlacing your fingers and letting them rest in your lap.

You had cried about Jacaerys, you had executed an act of violence in defence of Jacaerys, you had left Jacaerys in the cold. You had made love with Jacaerys...now you could understand why wars were difficult. What a weirdly victorious night that was.

[freelancearsonist]

in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought. 

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable. 

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you. 

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to. 

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him. 

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him. 

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too. 

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant. 

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

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