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raribella · 5 months

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Love is Embarrassing | JJ Maybank

summary: although JJ had promised your brother he wouldn’t ever hurt you, you saw him kissing Kie while you were on a break.

pairing: JJ Maybank x Routledge!reader

genre: emotionally heavy anst, fluff in the end

contains: reader being a real bitch, mentions of Luke and parental abuse, inspired by some songs in the album “GUTS” by Olivia Rodrigo, kinda shitty ending but let me know.

word count: 2,7k

author’s note: alright I know I’ve been MIA and a bitch and I haven’t posted anything in months (worse if you see how much stuff is on my “upcoming works” section), but I’ve just had a lot of ideas, little time and little confidence to write. one of my best friends just showed me obx and I’m in love with this blonde and I got (I think) a spoiler about him and Kie and I just had to do something with my feelings.

This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters of Outer Banks nor any characteristic of the show. I am writing this story solely for my own entertainment and the marvel or comfort of any readers.

“If I fuck up with her that might as well be the last thing I do in my life, John B! I mean it!”

the words that JJ heatedly uttered to your twin brother the day he found out about the two of you were repeating over and over in your head right now. You remembered it all too well; John B was seething, absolutely pissed, seeing red. You and JJ Maybank knew each other for as long as he and your brother were best friends, when you turned 14, he declared to all the Pogues that you were off limits, and about two months ago, you and JJ started seeing each other. One month into it and JB discovered you, which was easy considering JJ already spent most of his time with both of you at the Chateau. JJ promised his best friend that he wouldn’t fuck up with you because two things mattered the most for him in this life; their friendship, and yourself.

But as of lately, he was having some problems with Luke and he asked for some time “out” so he could figure his shit out without involving or hurting you and you disagreed but you’d do pretty much anything in this world for this man so you decided to say yes.

To his bullshit.

Bullshit, you figured out about half an hour ago, when you heard a confusing conversation between him and Kiara – the perfect one – and when you went outside to track the noise, you saw them kissing.

You were fifteen minutes late to leave for the weekly kegger and you forced yourself to lock yourself in the bathroom and call in sick – because that you were, and you wouldn’t handle being out partying and pretending like seeing the kooks, and seeing them two wouldn’t make you feel the same type of nausea at this moment.

Sarah was the third person to try and make you get out of the bathroom. The first being your brother and the second, Pope. Although you were thankful neither JJ nor Kie had tried to talk to you, when you heard your best friend’s voice, you were actually starting to feel sick, you were having a migraine from holding tears up, and you were sweating.

“Y/n, come on! You were so excited to come not even an hour ago, we’re already late and I don’t see why wouldn’t you want to come”

Your vision was blurry as you palmed the door and laid your forehead on it. Sarah realized that you really weren’t coming when she heard your voice crack.

“Sarah please, just, go on out without me this one time, I need not to be there right now and I also need to be alone please don’t ask me questions I can’t handle to answer you this moment I promise-“

As you rambled, she frowned from the other side of the door. Making sure to get everyone to leave for the Kegger, to try and remember asking you about this later on, and to reassure John B that you were actually okay.

You’ve been successfully avoiding JJ for about two weeks now. It started with enough discretion, allegedly going to the bathroom every time he entered a room, or offering everyone any snacks you would spend too much time preparing in the kitchen. For him, it started getting obvious when you looked the other way when he looked at you at the beach, or when you refused to surf and, as of recently, started slamming the doors on him. JJ was getting pissed at this rate. He started by simply frowning and brushing it off, but you couldn’t just keep slamming doors and not even looking at him, and if everyone else noticed, they just wouldn’t budge! The worst part is that he didn’t know what had happened nor if he could fix it. You understood him when he told you he needed time to figure out some stuff with Luke, but the truth was he was still very much freaked out about that. He still loved you, and he couldn’t afford to see you like this anymore, especially when such behavior was being directed at him. JJ missed you. Even if he couldn’t really figure his shit out, he missed you screaming at the top of your lungs as you entered the sea, he missed your smile, your laidback grin that he was the only receiver of, he missed your colorful bikinis, and how they embraced your features as you would jump onto every wooden swing near the shore, your curly hair flying everywhere filled with salt spray. He just missed you, the real you. And he had to talk to you to see if there was even a chance that he could get you back.

You, on the other hand, kept avoiding the questioning looks the pogues would send you every time you were harsh or avoidant at JJ, your brother even attempted to talk to you, silently, just with glances, and figure out if his best friend had hurt you. But even if he did, it only hurt because you loved him too much, and you decided it was best to protect him from John B’s wrath. You felt embarrassed whenever Kiara questioned you with her eyes as well; you felt embarrassed to be near her. You kept crucifying yourself and both her and JJ because of everything, often zoning out of the conversation and just bitterly reminiscing about the times you consoled your boyfriend as he cried late at night in your room, being gentle with his bruises. – thinking how could you be so stupid? giving up everything, betting on him against your brother’s better judgment. You kept paying attention to Kie and how, since that day, she looked like the sweetest thing of the Cut, the fucking hell-side of the island. Her perfume lingered in the air even at the beach and made you feel sick; you saw her everywhere now, even when you looked at him. You saw the scene of them kissing. Feeling every word she would utter toward you in conversation like bullets on your skin. As it was torture how she was the greatest thing to ever exist – how everyone loved her, how she was so much better than you; poisoning everything that you do and still being the sweetest friend, making you despise how rotten your mind was; how jealous your eyes were.

You were bottled up to the brim.

It started out simple enough. JJ had noticed everyone was doing their own thing at the Chateau; John B was absent for the time being, and you were alone on the couch, fidgeting, focused on whatever. It seemed like the perfect window to try and have an actual conversation about what’s been happening. He just didn’t expect it all to escalate so quickly. He didn’t expect you to have seen a part of his conversation with Kiara about his dad – but not everything, not the ending. – He hadn’t expected a conversation with you of all people to become a bomb with a short fuse that would explode into feelings tainted crimson. watching you bleed, making him bleed all over for you.

"Pogues don't mack on pogues, y/n! this shit freaked me out, your brother finding out freaked me out, yeah, even if he’s my best friend and I was afraid that-”

“Oh, so you go ‘round and fucking get with Kiara?! this is fucking bullshit, JJ! bullshit-

“Y/n, listen to me!”

You both were screaming, Kie’s eyes went wide as she tried calling your name as well but you had already started crying and couldn’t pay attention to anyone but him. At this point, as John B arrived at the Chateau and followed the noise, the people around you calming you down couldn’t be sure if they were afraid of his arrival or actually relieved. You kept interrupting each other. JJ pulled his hair and you pointed at yourself and to your side – as if Kiara was still there – strength marking red fingertips above your chest.

“‘Cause she’s not even a real pogue, right?! that’s why you got so confident about it, huh?”

it was almost as if the room went silent. Kiara decided to step outside to give you space; to take a moment to breathe in and take notice that you didn’t mean that. She was sure you didn’t. The rest of the group started to move aside as well although they could obviously still hear the commotion. Only you, John B, and JJ were in the living room. Your brother grabbed your shoulders from behind trying to ground you in any way he could, JJ growing nervous at the rate of the conversation and his friend’s presence.

You looked into his eyes and it was as if the blue in them was slowly fading, his eyebrows shot up and his mouth twisted in a clearly upset frown. As tears stained your cheeks, pride still overpowering your shame and feelings pent up, you started with more meaningless empty jabs, which, said angrily enough, would only make JJ bleed more as he fell silent himself.

“I really loved you, you know? You gotta laugh at the stupidity.. right? Come on you were going around doing that shit and I swear JJ I used to think was really smart… I was just a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked-up little thrill for you, tho… best friend’s little twin… ridiculous.”

At that, John B diverted his attention toward his friend with stern questioning eyes. JJ gulped.

“Look, man I just really need to talk to her and explain myself, ‘aight? I didn’t do what- Things are really not what they seem right now and I need her to-“

“Fuck, JJ, that’s bullshit! How can you not even flinch when you fucking lie like that! Things are just like what they seem you never even fucking loved me! You can’t love anyone, ‘cause that would mean you had a heart, right? But you’re a fucking Maybank! And I really tried to help you out all this time but now I know that I can’t!”

You were calming down, but exploded again, as the words left your mouth though, you started regretting them, the most deeply someone could ever regret anything maybe, worsening by the second as you saw the man you still loved muttering a small “no”, cracking at your words and shedding a tear. As Kiara heard what you said from the outside, she didn’t even think before bursting into the house again, turning every head in her direction.

“Y/n you’re spiraling and you’re saying things you’ll fucking regret! I kissed him, alright?! This is my fault. He stopped me, he loves you and he wouldn’t do that, okay?”

Though the words she was muttering were calming you down, she was calling you out, she was absolutely mad at what you said about JJ’s father because she had context and it was really fucked up. You felt small.

“Kiss?!” John B asked, his eyebrows shooting up. It wasn’t his intention to aggravate the situation but it was his little sister involved. JJ tried to start talking and explain the situation – which Kiara had left him to, but he could really only think about one thing.

“I- uh… did you mean it? What you said.”

JJ rarely expressed any sign of vulnerability, so as his voice broke, you felt like your heart did too, rushing to explain yourself now, and trying to get closer to him.

“I didn’t mean it, J, I really didn’t! God, I don’t even know how you can still even look at me right now I’m so sorry I was just so fucking broken at the idea of you che- of losing you, and I- I thought you had found someone else and I damn near started world war III right now and it’s just because I love you so much and I know you don’t deserve another fucked up demonstration of love, you deserve to feel so good, Jay, and I’m really sorry, I love you so so much, and I will understand if you never-“

You were interrupted by the shock of his own body against yours. The both of you were panting, crying, completely tired sighs leaving each mouth as if this was all going on for days and you were so hurt, yet needing each other so much. John B and Kiara were ‘okay’ enough with the newfound situation to leave you both to your own devices again, and you just clung to one another, sitting on the floor for what felt like hours until he decided to speak again.

“Y/n… I asked for us to take some time because it was becoming too real, y’know? What we felt for each other.. it was, touchable- it is. And when everyone else found out, and then John B… You know I don’t talk about this usually, not with anyone but you, but I didn’t want my dad to find out about us, to find out about you. I don’t want him knowing what you are for me I don’t want him knowing that laying a single finger on you can be worse than any punch he could throw my way. And I wanted to figure this out without you knowing about it because you’d say it’s fine, and I-“

As your mind processes his words, you start to think how in the world you got a man whose the first concern about a monster of a father would be you. How could you deserve it, especially after what you had insinuated about him. “It is! It’s fine, honey, we can-“

“No, y/n it’s not fine because I don’t ever want you to even worry your pretty little head about a situation like that, y’know? And It’s not fine because the pogues are my family and the love I feel for you, if anything would happen to you because of him I’ll be damned, damned, and in jail for murder, you can trust me I will.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. All you could do was keep the hold you had on each other, slightly caressing his head.

“Since I didn’t want you to know about it, I went to Kie, that night of the Kegger, and she tried to help me and she said she loved me and I did too but then she kissed me and I assume it’s what you saw but I did step back, I promise! I told her off… Y/n I told your brother that if I intentionally hurt you, if I fucked up with you like this then that might as well be the last thing I did in my life and I mean it. I love you so much, little Routledge, and I’m all in now. We can figure shit out as we go but as long as we have each other, okay?”

As JJ spoke, he held your hands, reassuring you at the end. Hours had passed ever since you started talking, so when the pogues felt everything was calmer they decided to go back in the house slowly – figure out how you were, what were the plans for the night.

“Do you really forgive me for what I said? I will understand, J, I’m so, so sorry, I love you so much” You touched your forehead with his, and JJ sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I love you. I love you, y/n… can’t be without you.”

And as you both kissed each other as if you were making up for ages lost, Sarah smiled at the corner of the room, John B interrupting the show. “Come on with the PDA, love birds… What are we doing tonight, then?” He half-heartedly scolded as you got up, hand glued to the blonde's. You let out a big sigh again, before brushing them off with an honest, but half-assed excuse, already making the way to your room.

“I mean, you could go to Heyward’s… I think we’ll just lie down a bit.. ‘twas kinda draining…” you saw a bunch of side smiles as the group left through the door, Sarah grinned, letting out a puff of air through her nose, and when Pope went to close the door, he screamed back in the direction of your room, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” which earned a scream back from an already lying down JJ, “might as well not do anything!” and for the first time in a while, you laughed, making your way to lie on top of him, his embrace being all you needed.

“You know… we could go out to surf tomorrow,” he offered, still missing the sight of a happy you, your bikini, and the ocean.

“First thing in the morning.” You answered.

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itsbuckytm · 6 months

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Envy and Passion (Pt. 2) / Coriolanus Snow.

summary : this moving forward, the romantic affair of Coriolanus and you began to blossomed ever seen its first meet. with a envy for lust and power, snow is relcontless to make you officially his. with a gesture not so normal, and to perhaps have your father finally accept the two love bird's relationship.

read part one first!! : part one

english isn't my first language, so i excuse for small typo or error mistakes. ps : please don't copy my work or use it without proper credit! thank you.

Your involvement with Coriolanus Snow persisted, concealed from your father who remained oblivious to the situation. Fortunately, Snow chose to invest a significant amount of time with you in the laboratory. This arrangement included the opportunity to assist him directly under the guidance of Dr. Gaul herself. Surprisingly, it never posed a challenge for either of you. Whenever Snow felt a desire or yearned to intertwine his warm fingers with your cold skin, he didn't hesitate to express it openly, especially when you pleaded with him to do so.

"Speak it aloud." He would insist, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the stark contrast of your dark pupils. He found this juxtaposition oddly unsettling yet captivating, especially as you exuded confidence despite the complete reversal of your family's name. Which contrasted oddly well, when you presented yourself before Snow, adopting a submissive demeanor, he ensured not to overlook it. "Say that you desire me." He commanded, and in that instant, his voice deepened. The soft gaze that he had employed earlier to pause shifted into something more intense, with his eyebrows furrowing, expressing a mix of dignity, pride, and a hunger solely for you.

Every time Snow expressed his feelings and unwavering commitment, a warmth would spread across your cheeks. "I desire you, Snow." You confessed, feeling palpitations resonating throughout your entire body, experiencing emotions previously unfamiliar to you. Despite your father's strict measures to ensure you remained free from romantic entanglements, the fear of him discovering your involvement with Snow loomed over you. Uttering Snow's name could potentially lead to punishment for both of you. However, in the present moment, neither of you cared about the potential consequences, dismissing any concerns about possible repercussions.

Upon your confession and Snow's acceptance of your words, he reveled in the opportunity to explore every inch of your skin visible to his eyes alone. Your gentle touch on his blouse, revealing a glimpse of his chest, was met with amusement as you feigned clumsiness, as if he hadn't witnessed it before. Chuckling at your playful act, he remarked. "You know, if you were eager to see me shirtless, you could have asked from the very beginning." Despite the confidence instilled by your father, your shyness intrigued Snow. It fascinated him to witness a strong, independent woman like yourself, who, despite her confidence, found herself pleading at his mercy. And he wasn't complaining one bit.

"All I want is to wait for the perfect moment." Was your simple declaration. Yet, Snow, with his deceptive and unconvincing response to your second confession, couldn't help but see through the charade. He knew all too well that it wasn’t just a matter of time. This realization felt somewhat absurd to him, considering that from the very start of your love affair, it was you who ensured that your skin was exposed. This time around, despite the temptation to witness another captivating display, he found himself yearning for you to admire him, to experience the same emotions he felt whenever your eyes met his. “How about we change a little bit?”

"Change?" Your brows furrowed this time, a mix of confusion, anticipation, and eagerness, curious about what Snow had in store. After all, Snow was known for his penchant for surprises. It wasn't a coincidence that both of you were selected as Dr. Gaul's personally chosen students for her mentoring. Dr. Gaul was well aware of your relationship, and if it served to prolong the Hunger Games, she had a keen understanding of how to maintain loyalty between you and Snow. Whether the connection was romantic or not mattered little to her; as long as the two of you were working and following orders, Dr. Gaul was pleased.

Snow reached for your fingers, and as they entwined with his, he motioned for you to sit on his lap. You complied effortlessly, well aware that whenever Snow needed a break from paperwork while maintaining focus, a call for you to be on his lap was a common occurrence. It served as a distraction, allowing him to immerse himself in the scent of your presence. Despite his internal struggle to control his obsession and resist the urge to engage in more intimate activities right there on his desk, the desire to hear your submissive murmurings and witness your eyes fixated on him alone was always tempting. However, today presented a deviation from the norm. As you settled onto his lap, his back comfortably resting against the chair, his fingers intertwined with yours, prompting to unbutton his blouse, you could only utter. "Oh..." In disbelief at his prompt actions.

"Oops, I guess a few buttons slipped," Snow playfully admitted, revealing the subtle nature of his game. While he made it seem like his own oversight, the fact that your fingers remained intertwined with his suggested that he was not entirely innocent. It conveyed that, even if he were eager to take the blame, you were not hesitant to make his chest slightly visible. However, for Snow, it wasn't merely about a brief glimpse of his chest. He intended to shed everything – from blouse to coat – without hesitation, relishing the opportunity to hear the gasps and disapproval echoing from your own father.

A blush tinted your features, the same blush that had adorned your face during the reaping ceremony. It was a blush Snow relished, a sign that he was gaining complete control over you. Without hesitation, he took it upon himself to unbutton his entire blouse with a single hand. "It's getting a little hot, isn't it?" He casually remarked, using it as an excuse and subtly suggesting you might want to do the same if it pleased you. However, you resisted the urge to swiftly follow suit, observing as Snow confidently removed both his blouse and coat in one fluid motion. As you could’ve sworn to feel your teeth sinking the bottom of your lip. The tension between the two of you became apparent now. He wanted you. And you wanted him.

Before he proceeded, his fingers gently disentangled from yours, trailing along your thighs as your short skirt revealed more skin, much to his satisfaction. He couldn't resist brushing it against your lips, a desire he had been suppressing since he first laid eyes on you that morning. With genuine affection, he admired the skirt he loved so much, especially paired with the Academy's uniform blouse you had deliberately made a little looser this time. He took notice when he observed your cleavage being more pronounced that very same day.

"You can't fathom how much I've yearned to taste you. Don't pretend to be innocent, Princess. It's our little game, you know." Our Little Game. He declared, and the words echoed in your mind. However, in the midst of numerous affairs and the expression of feelings, the certainty of whether he genuinely meant it, whether his love for you was real, or if uttering your name was merely a distraction to maintain his sanity, became increasingly elusive. "Then, demonstrate your love for me.” You challenged. Without a moment's hesitation, your words caught him off guard, almost offended. "After everything I've done for you?" He countered.

You felt his lips brushed against yours, temptation of not wanting to kiss you on the spot. While you challenged him such deal, he became almost too offended by your question. Was it even obvious? Snow became a little persistent, and with his piercing blue eyes never leaving it’s gaze now his eyes began darker. Darker as his gaze became aware of his need for you. A need of you becoming his officially. And today, it was one of the few occasions he could at least do. “I will.”

His fingers delicately cradled your face, exhibiting a hunger to explore and savor every inch of your skin exclusively reserved for him. Starting with your lips, he pressed his plump lips against yours, reveling in the intoxicating taste of your cherry balm that drove him to the brink of insanity. This obsession was so profound that whenever he encountered a blossoming Cherry Tree, it inevitably reminded him of you. Not stopping there, he proceeded to confidently grip your backside, causing your loose skirt to flutter up. The chill from the brisk lab air made you flinch in response to the sudden exposure.

"Mine. Mine." His voice grew rougher, a tone that required a certain adaptation on your part. Your head tilted backward as you felt his lips trail down the crook of your neck, an area he longed to adorn with endless pampering and marks that, at least, could be concealed. Today, however, he made sure they were visible, intended to stoke the fires of your father's entire disdain. "Mine until the break of dawn." He declared, feeling the friction between cloth and underwear intensify, causing his arousal to surge. Snow could no longer contain himself when your soft fingers journeyed from his immaculate chest to the zipper of his pants. In a mere second, as you unzipped them, you teasingly grasped his now fully erect member and gently stroked it, bringing him undeniable pleasure.

"If you truly mean it." You approached him with a hint of seduction, taking control of the situation. In this game of chess, Snow had anticipated that one day the tables would turn, and today seemed to be that day. "Make love to me like you've never done before. Make me moan until the sounds echo through the entire lab, risking the chance of getting caught." To Snow's surprise, he tilted his head upon hearing your bold words, realizing that the desire you expressed mirrored his own. This opportunity was rare, the only time both of you could be together. If it wasn't for your father's protection; you would feel ashamed if he were to catch a glimpse of the two of you right now. Yet, love has a way of blinding reason.

“And make your father know, to who you belong to. Princess.” He lingered with a loving and lust of wanted to fuck you. This time although he enjoyed a quickie, he wanted to make it an experience for you, whether it was sloppy or messy. It did not mattered for the both of you, as long as Snow showed and declared his entire love for you. It was all it mattered.

After the surprisingly enjoyable encounter, you suddenly realized the time and the fact that you had completely forgotten about a meeting with Dr. Gaul and your father regarding the Hunger Games. You began to panic. "Shit, I'm going to be late!" You exclaimed, and Snow found it oddly cute, especially since you rarely used such language in public. "Don't forget this." Even though Snow was well aware of what he was doing, you hastily grabbed anything resembling a uniform. As long as you had your skirt back on, along with the coat and blouse, it should be enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Thankfully, with your hair strategically covering the hickeys, you managed to arrive late to the meeting, running at full speed without raising any eyebrows.

Upon finally arriving, you seized the chance to catch your breath, fortunate that your father and everyone else attending the meeting were engrossed in Dr. Gaul's presentation. However, upon laying eyes on you, she couldn't help but voice concern about your uniform. "Y/N, my dear. What is this monstrosity?" Swiftly, your father's gaze shifted to you, taking note of the alteration in your uniform. The blouse, that delicately hugging your curves, now appeared slightly larger, evident in your fingers poking through its sleeves. It became glaringly obvious that it wasn't yours but Snow's. You found yourself in a deeper mess. Vaguely recalling seeing Snow casually blending his blouse with yours before leaving, you realized it was another way for him to mark you as his own—a subtle yet effective gesture, particularly if it meant provoking your father into a boiling rage.

"And where might Snow be? He was supposed to be invited to this meeting as well," Dr. Gaul expressed her suspicion. Although you attempted to ignore your father's disapproving gaze, well aware of his concerns and mentoring about his feelings regarding Snow, you were preoccupied by Snow's unexpected actions. You weren't certain if he was indeed coming or intentionally delaying his arrival to avoid raising suspicion, only to later excuse himself for being late and have Dr. Gaul overlook his absence. “I didn’t know Snow was invited for today’s meeting…” Was all you could say, which wasn’t entirely false.

Dismissing her concern for Snow, she accepted your response. Despite being already aware of the possible relationship between the two of you, she simply smiled at you and suggested you join the audience. As you took a seat next to your father, he noticed your arrival. Quite annoyed at least. “Next time, try to cover the marks in your neck. For the love of god, Y/N.” Shit, your father had spot Snow’s hickeys. If it wasn’t to make it worse even noticed the slight change in your cheeks as it was still showing a flushed and pink shade from the climax you had encountered prior with Snow. Instead to not disrupt any further you obliged and apologize like the good daughter you were meant to be. “It will never happen again, I promise.” But did you?

As anticipated, Snow arrived late. Fortunately, he had the foresight to bring an extra blouse, fully intending to have you wear one of his. The expression on your father's face when he noticed the unconventional attire was exactly what Snow had anticipated. Doing his best to catch his breath after rushing to the meeting, he excused himself, saying, "Sorry, I am late." Dr. Gaul acknowledged his presence and gestured for him to sit next to you. A proud smile adorned Snow's face as he witnessed the exact expression he had expected from your father.

“Loving the uniform, sweetheart.” He casually said, whispering to your ear this time before quickly gaining his attention back to him but also making sure that you were aware of his meschibiosu little guess.

"Shut up, Snow." He hoped to hear from you as you were about to speak up. Instead, it was your father's voice that uttered those words upon realizing that it wasn't, in fact, your uniform all this time but Snow's. Anticipating a response from you after your father's remark, Snow waited, but instead, Casca continued. "Just be a little more secretive next time."

To your surprise, you glanced over at your father, intending to defend yourself. However, a mere gaze from him conveyed the unspoken message that if you attempted to object, he would ensure an end to the relationship. Despite his unwillingness to witness his daughter's unhappiness due to her father's unwarranted bias against the Snow family, he held on to the hope that, at the very least, Coriolanus Snow wasn't akin to his own father. Or... was your father not entirely wrong?

"We will."

Snow's voice lingered in the crook of your neck, indicating his satisfaction with your father's newfound approval of the relationship. Finally, he felt unburdened, no longer afraid to proudly show the world that you were his and his alone.

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x y/n #president snow #coryo #president snow x reader #hunger games x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus imagines #coriolanus snow imagiens #hunger games imagines

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dreamscribee · 2 months

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💎His Diamond💎

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

𓍯 Anthony Bridgerton x female reader

𓍯 Here's PART 1 and PART 2 - Don't skip ahead! Make sure you've caught up on the other chapters. This might be longer then the previous chapters, but trust me, it's totally worth the read!

𓍯 Summary: Lady Y/N, praised by the Queen for her grace and talent, captivates Anthony Bridgerton with her music at a lavish ball. Their emotional connection deepens as they share a heartfelt moment, signaling the beginning of a budding romance.

𓍯 Word Count: 750 (words), 4,174 (characters)

𓍯 This may be the final chapter for this romantic adventure with Anthony Bridgerton, but if we get this post at 200 notes, I'll take that as a sign to continue this story. Do you want to keep the love alive, dear readers?

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden hues across the bustling streets of London, Y/N found herself standing in the grandeur of the royal palace. Nerves fluttered within her as she awaited her audience with the Queen, her mind swirling with questions and anticipation.

When the appointed hour arrived, Y/N was ushered into a lavishly adorned chamber where the Queen sat upon her throne, regal and imposing. With a gracious nod, the Queen beckoned Y/N closer, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Your Majesty," Y/N began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, "I am deeply honored by your request for an audience."

The Queen regarded her with a knowing smile before speaking, her words carrying a weight of importance. "Lady Y/N, it has come to my attention that you possess a rare quality—a diamond amidst a sea of gems. Your grace, wit, and the melody of your harp have not gone unnoticed."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she absorbed the Queen's words, feeling a warmth spread through her veins. To be declared the diamond of the season by the highest authority in the land was a validation beyond her wildest dreams.

With a graceful bow, Y/N expressed her gratitude to the Queen, her heart brimming with newfound confidence and purpose.

As the night of the ball descended upon London, the grandeur of the occasion seemed to pale in comparison to the radiance of Lady Y/N. Adorned in an exquisite gown that shimmered like moonlight, she took her place at the harp, fingers dancing across the strings with practiced precision.

As the night wore on and the ballroom swirled with the elegant movements of dancers, Anthony Bridgerton found himself utterly captivated by Lady Y/N. With each graceful note she plucked from the harp, she seemed to cast a spell upon him, drawing him closer with an invisible thread of enchantment.

Their dance carried them across the polished floor, weaving through a sea of swirling skirts and polished shoes. Anthony's gaze never wavered from Y/N, his heart pounding with a fervor he could scarcely contain.

"Lady Y/N," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "since the moment I laid eyes on you, I have been entranced by your beauty, your spirit, your every breath."

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise, her heart skipping a beat at the intensity of Anthony's words. She had known him for such a long time, yet in his eyes, she saw a depth of emotion that stirred something deep within her soul.

"Anthony," she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion, "I... I never imagined..."

But before she could utter another word, Anthony's hand gently cupped her cheek, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

"Y/N," he continued, his voice now filled with a raw vulnerability that took her breath away, "in your presence, I have found a light that guides me through the darkest of nights. You are my solace, my sanctuary, my everything."

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as she gazed into Anthony's, her heart overflowing with a love she had never known possible.

"Anthony," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, "I feel it too. With every beat of my heart, I feel it too."

And as they stood there, lost in each other's gaze, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, bound together by a love that transcended time and space.

It was then, amidst the whispers of love and the gentle strains of music, that Anthony dropped to one knee, a small heart shaped box nestled in his palm.

"Y/N," he said, his voice trembling with emotion, "will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you stand by my side, not just tonight, but for all the nights to come?"

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she beheld the man before her, his eyes alight with love and devotion. With a trembling hand, she reached out to touch his cheek, her heart overflowing with a joy beyond words.

"Yes, Anthony," she whispered, her voice a melody of love and longing, "yes, a thousand times yes."

And as Anthony slipped the ring onto her finger, sealing their love for all eternity, the world seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the dawn of a new chapter in their lives—a chapter filled with love, laughter, and the promise of forever.

#anthony bridgerton imagines #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton

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jkslipppiercing · 10 months

Text

Bumblebee 04 | jjk

• summary: Jeon Jungkook was your high school bully. What are you gonna do when your parents are forcing you to marry him as the country's most well-known CEO?

• pairing: ceo!jk x reader, high school bully!jk, dom!jk.

• genre: enemies to lovers, slowburn, high school bully to lover, arranged marriage, CEO/billionare romance, marriage of convenience.

• warnings: choking, humiliating (kinda idk), close proximity, cursing, miscommunication.

• WC: 2.1K aprox. (she's a little baby)

• taglist form

• index

• previous/next

A single tear runs down your cheek.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You've never cried over a guy. Is that going to change now?

Possibly.

Jungkook has already left for work at about 9:00, leaving you to your thoughts. He said you're due to show up at his office at 12:00, considering him being free for the day. He claims he needs to use his rare vacant hours to talk you over the basic dos and don’ts of working for him.

You agreed, acting like you've met him two days ago over a work interview.

“Y/N, I went to a gentlemen’s club yesterday.”

You run his words on repeat in your mind, like a jammed tape that's just running through your head. His voice refuses to back down, growing louder at your conscience. He's basically screaming the sentence at you now, overwhelming you.

“A strip club.”

Shit.

Another tear escapes.

In all honesty, you have no idea how to feel. One minute you’re fuming at how he didn’t care enough to show up to dinner yesterday, and the other you’re miserable; because you don’t want to be mad at him.

Every time your feelings are brought to the matter, you spiral. You truly don’t know how to feel. You want to understand him, but you’d be tossing your pride in the trash for you to forgive him for what he did. It was a mistake, you know how badly he knows he’s fucked up, but you still haven’t heard an apology. All it takes is one fucking apology, just good enough to show he cares.

You blocked your feelings out and wore a cold mask, in disguise of your true emotions. You expected him to be mad at that reaction, because you basically gave him nothing to work with, but he reciprocated it. He’s playing your game. Now, you’re going to play his.

You look at your reflection, wiping away at the stray tears of utter confusion. You plaster a satisfied smile as you appreciate the effort you put into the outfit you’re wearing.

You’re wearing a mini-dress.

In basic work attire ethics, wearing a mini-dress to work is inappropriate. It’s the epitome of unprofessionalism, and you’re wearing it purely to provoke Jungkook. He said you’re going to start working for him, but the poor man doesn’t know how you operate.

He’s giving you the secretary job only to show you who holds the true power, thinking it’s him who does.

He’s so gullible to think you can simply agree to work for him.

Soon, when you’re married to Mr. Jeon and you’re officially declared as his wife, you’re also officially a partner of the company. The company of which HG and Jeon Agencies will merge to form. So, in actuality, you're soon due to be working with him.

If you wore a mini dress to work as Jungkook’s future wife, who will dare to speak a word about it?

An off-shoulder, tight black mini dress- at that.

•••

You strut through the company like it’s your own, endless gaping faces staring your way.

Your head is held high, your hips swaying with every step in such an authoritative manner. It’s impressive- to say the least- the amount of confidence you’re radiating through every stride.

As you enter the elevator, you catch a rather cute employee- the quirky type with glasses- staring at youwith her jaw to the floor. You make sure to send her a rather flirty wink just before the elevator doors close and you’re taken up to Mr. Jeon’s office. You catch a glimpse of her swooning over the action with rosy cheeks, a victorious smile pulling the corners of your lips up.

A couple of minutes later, you’re in front of the secretary’s desk, Yoona staring up at you in bewilderment.

You smile at her half-heartedly, getting straight to the point; “Is Mr. Jeon alone in his office? Does he have anyone scheduled to meet him anytime soon?” Your voice drips in professionalism, cutting straight to the point.

Yoona takes quite a bit of time before she stutters a semi-coherent answer. “U-uh n-no. He’s alone.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement as your don’t waste your time any more, heading for Jungkook’s office door.

You don’t knock. Why would you?

Holy heavens.

Jungkook is leaning back on his desk as if awaiting your arrival. He has a glass of what seems to be whiskey in his hand. The tie around his neck loosened as his suit’s blazer was forgotten on the couch.

He has 2 leather chairs on either side in front of his desk and a wide couch in the center, in addition to an aesthetic coffee table; seemingly creating a lounge in the middle of his office.

He has a couple buttons of his shirt undone, as the sleeves of it are rolled up on his forearms. His hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it a million times, which he does before he smirks. He tucks one of his hands in his trousers’ pocket, using the second to bring the glass up to his lips. He smirks through it at you, all the while maintaining eye contact between you two. His watch glints in the sun, grabbing your attention.

You've always had a thing for men and watches, and goddamn is it a weakness.

The sun rays shine through the tall floor to ceiling glass windows, illuminating his figure and complimenting its height and the lean muscle that hides beneath the sheer material of the shirt.

The sight knocks the breath right out of your lungs and skyrockets your heartbeat to over one hundred and ten per minute.

Whoa.

His eyes rack over your body, starting from your toes and making their way up to your head. He takes his time taking you in, a glint of lust- maybe even hunger- swirling in his chocolate eyes. He takes another sip of whiskey.

“Mr. Jeon.”

“Mrs. Jeon.”

The name escapes his lips in an amused manner.

What?

Last time you checked, you were still Ms. Y/L/N.

“Excuse you?” You raise a brow as you approach him. You place your purse on the couch, joining his blazer as you strut towards him, your head held high.

“You better get used to being addressed by that, Y/N.” He stays leaned back on the desk, speaking as if he has not a care in the world. “You are my future wife, after all.” He smirks.

God damn that smirk of his.

Oh how much you want to kiss it off his face.

You continue your stride toward him, betraying no emotion when your face stays neutral.

You stop right in front of him, only to take the glass from between his fingers and cradle it in yours. “I can still say no, you know.”

You shrug casually, bringing the glass up to your lips to take a tantalizingly slow sip. You make sure to drink from the side he had drunk from, licking your lips after you let the sensation of the alcohol burn your throat.

His expression stays unreadable, so you make sure he understands what you mean: “To the marriage. I still have an option.”

As you go to set the glass back on the desk where he’s leaned on, you almost stumble causing him to hold you by your hips. You straighten, your nose touching his in the process.

He leans in further, his lips brushing against yours as he looks into your eyes. It feels like he’s staring deeper into your soul, and the thought scares you.

What if he finds things better left untouched?

What if he reads in between the lines of your emotions?

“What makes you think I’d let you?” He whispers to you, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. His hands are still glued to your waist the same way they always are, driving you absolutely mad in every way possible.

“This isn’t very professional now, is it, Mr. Jeon?” You place your hands on his chest as you push him away, solely to put distance between the both of you. A rosy blush kisses your cheeks as his hands find their home on your waist again, only for him to pull you closer.

His tone turns cold, speaking as if he hates the thoughts of you running through his head.

“You think you’re slick, huh?” He chuckles, but it comes out rather evil than lighthearted. You almost flinch.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He stares deep into your eyes again, making your head swim. Your mind is too lost in his eyes to register the position you’re in. You don’t know what to do.

“Showing up to work in a mini-dress, Y/N?” His hand snakes up to rest on your jaw, but it’s a threat. It feels like a threat. You fail to move.

“That’s not very good now, is it?” He smiles, but it’s void of emotion. It’s scary. “Trying to provoke me?” His body is flush against yours now, with him no longer leaning against the desk, but handling your body in a way that makes it impossible for you to move; you don't even know if you want to. He’s taller than you- by far- his frame all too consuming the entirety of your thinking by towering over you.

His hand moves from your jaw to your neck, resting there. You struggle to appear unaffected, knowing very well how miserably you seem to be failing. The way he's looking at you almost seems like he's belittling you, making you doubt yourself every time you look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You breathe out a response, surprising yourself. Why does he have such a great effect on you?

“Playing dumb now, are we?” He coos, mocking you in the way he smiles. His dimple laughs at you.

The hand on your neck flexes, barely cutting off your air suply.

You stay rooted to your spot. Your mind is going in so many different directions that it makes it harder to stay focused. Not that you are- by any means- focused. Your breaths are turning more shallow by the minute, but you love it.

You trust Jungkook, and he knows you do.

You'd trust him with your life, no matter how mad you are at him.

He's sure of it.

“Hm?” His tone grows irritated at your lack of response, so you simply shake your head no- as much as his grip allows you to- at least.

“I already taught you how to use your words, Y/N.” You can’t breathe. Your heart beats in your throat and you just can’t- breathe.

But still, you push through. “Why would I want to provoke you?” You ask instead.

“Don’t you feel betrayed?” Jungkook looks at you now. Fully looks at you. No playfulness, no amusement whatsoever. His hand falls from your neck, coming to rest at your waist.

The question catches you off guard. Where did this suddenly come from?

“Aren’t you hurt?” His eyes turn to ones so deep in feeling, it sets you off. Is he talking about the prior night?

“About?” You mask the emotions struggling to stay veiled by trying to sound as calm as possible.

Don’t show weakness. Your mind screams at you, a desperate attempt to keep you collected.

Of course you feel betrayed. Of course, you feel hurt. How dare he ask when it’s him that’s causing you to feel this way in the first place. All you crave in this particular moment is to unleash. Unleash the anger you’ve been trying so hard to bottle in. Although you crave that from deep within your bones, you stay cool- calm.

All the haze from the earlier teasing dissipates into thin air, and you take the time to properly look at the man before you.

Jungkook looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. He has dark purplish eye bags under his currently heavy lidded eyes; the most beautiful ones you’ve ever been graced to see. Even in the exhaustion clearly evident in them, his eyes hold infinite depths of beauty. They captivate your whole being, leaving you intoxicated by their effect.

“I’m tired, Y/N.” He looks like he’s seconds away from collapsing. He’s angry again, his face fully expressing anger and frustration. But you have the right to be angry, too. Doesn't he think so?

You don’t give a shit if it means you’re being petty. You deserve an apology.

Your eyes squint in defiance at him, and you see his muscles tense further as a response to the action.

“You humiliated me.” You scoff, staring at him in disbelief. “You think you deserve the right to be fucking angry, Mr. Jeon?” You jab a finger to his chest.

The formality aims straight for his heart, while the coldness laced in your velvety voice stabs at it further. He stays silent, looks at the floor as his hands fall from your waist, only to hang helplessly on either side of his body. He clenches them into fists, only to unclench them right after. He repeats the action, in hopes of focusing on it instead of you. He doesn’t want to talk about it. About this. He’s thought about it too much, where it’s gotten him to a dead end. He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t understand what he feels towards you; it’s a feeling that catches him off-guard.

A feeling he isn’t familiar with. A feeling nobody taught him how to deal with.

You jab a finger to his chest again, “Pick me up at 9, we’re going to the club you suggested the other day.”

Your tone comes out void of emotion- another stab to the heart. His eyes don’t betray the floor he appears to be so fascinated in.

You step away from him, turning away. Just like that, you’ve left the office, leaving Jungkook to drown in the confusion that’s slowly eating away at his mind- little by little, piece by piece.

Little did you know, Jungkook was angry at himself.

@hoseokteardrop @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring@bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @nochuel @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdoll @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotz @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime

#bumblebee #jungkook x you #bts jungkook #jeon jk #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook #enemies to lovers #bts fanfiction

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aifanfictions · 8 months

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a story about (y/n) who is khal drogo's translator and khal drogo slowly falls in love with her and asks her to be his khaleesi in front of all his people one night by the fire

The Khaleesi's Heart

(Y/N) had always been captivated by the vastness of the Dothraki Sea, with its endless golden plains stretching as far as the eye could see. She had joined the Khalasar as a translator, seeking adventure and a chance to immerse herself in the rich culture of the fierce horse lords. Little did she know that her journey would lead to an unexpected and life-changing encounter.

Khal Drogo, a man of immense stature and a reputation that preceded him, had never taken much interest in the affairs of outsiders. His heart was bound to the warrior code, and his focus was on conquest and the endless expansion of his Khalasar. As he led his people through the sea of grass, he rarely spared a second thought for anything or anyone beyond his warriors and his beloved bloodriders.

One fateful evening, as the setting sun bathed the horizon in hues of fiery red and orange, Khal Drogo's warriors captured a party of travelers on the fringes of his territory. Among them was (Y/N), who had been accompanying a merchant caravan on her journey to learn the Dothraki ways. She found herself standing before the imposing Khal, her heart pounding in her chest.

(Y/N) knew the importance of diplomacy and the art of communication. Fluent in both the Dothraki tongue and the common language of Westeros, she was able to bridge the gap between her people and the fierce Khalasar. Her eyes met Drogo's, and she bowed respectfully, uttering the words of introduction in flawless Dothraki.

"Anhaan vekhat hoshori, majin adak jin," she spoke, introducing herself as a translator.

Khal Drogo, unaccustomed to hearing his mother tongue from the lips of a foreigner, was taken aback. His dark eyes bore into hers as if trying to decipher her intentions. Her confidence, intelligence, and the fire in her eyes intrigued him in a way that no one ever had.

Over time, as (Y/N) continued to serve as translator, she and Khal Drogo shared more than just words. She found herself drawn to the strength and honor that defined his character. He, in turn, began to seek her presence during meetings and discussions, valuing her insights and wisdom.

As the weeks turned into months, a connection grew between them, though they rarely spoke of it aloud. (Y/N) saw beyond the fearsome exterior of Khal Drogo, recognizing the depth of his heart and the unspoken longing in his gaze. Khal Drogo, a man of few words, found himself yearning for (Y/N)'s companionship, her laughter, and the way her eyes sparkled when she shared tales of her homeland.

The Khalasar continued its relentless journey across the Dothraki Sea, conquering rival clans and collecting tribute. In the midst of the dust and chaos of battle, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) found solace in each other's presence. They shared stolen moments by the campfire, where he would listen to her recount stories of the world beyond the grasslands, and she would learn of the proud history of the Dothraki.

One night, as they sat by the fire, the sky above them was ablaze with a tapestry of stars. Khal Drogo turned to (Y/N), his eyes filled with an intensity she had come to know all too well.

"Anhaan vekhat anni, (Y/N)," he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. "You have brought light to my Khalasar and to my heart. You are strong, wise, and beautiful. Will you be my Khaleesi?"

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat. She had never anticipated such a proposition. To be the Khaleesi of the Great Khal Drogo meant leaving behind her old life, her dreams of adventure, and embracing a destiny she had never imagined. Yet, as she looked into the eyes of the man who had come to mean so much to her, she knew that her heart had already made its choice.

"Yes, Khal Drogo," she replied, her voice unwavering. "I will be your Khaleesi."

Word of Khal Drogo's declaration spread throughout the Khalasar like wildfire. The warriors and the women ululated in celebration, recognizing that their Khal had chosen a powerful and deserving Khaleesi. The union of two strong souls promised a future of prosperity and unity.

As the flames of the fire danced around them that night, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) sealed their commitment with a sacred Dothraki ritual. Their love would be tested in the trials of the unforgiving Dothraki culture, but they were determined to stand together, a force to be reckoned with.

And so, under the vast, starlit expanse of the Dothraki Sea, a new chapter in their lives began. Khal Drogo, once a warrior without equal, had found something even more precious than conquest – love. And (Y/N), the outsider who had ventured into this world seeking adventure, had found a love that would change her destiny forever.

As the months turned into years, Khal Drogo and his Khaleesi led the Great Khalasar to new heights, forging alliances and achieving greatness that had not been seen in generations. Their love story, whispered through the winds of the Dothraki Sea, became a legend, a testament to the power of love to transcend boundaries and unite even the fiercest of hearts.

In the heart of the Dothraki Sea, beneath the endless sky, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) embarked on a journey of love and destiny, a journey that would shape the future of the Dothraki and etch their names into the annals of history as a love that conquered all.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

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blayresmuses · 2 years

Text

HOW THEY SHOW AFFECTION

summary: how the hotd characters show their affection in relationships.

includes: aemond, aegon, alicent, rhaenyra, daemon, jace, harwin

warnings: mentions of sex and mentions of violence

authors note: i honestly don’t even know if this concept makes sense but oh well enjoy :)

once aemond accepts his feelings for you he’s surprisingly attentive and affectionate. everyone at court can see how he dotes on you - not that they’d mention it in front of him - and how even the briefest mention of your name has his head turning. he does shower you in affection physically but you notice more that quality time together seems to be his way of showing his love to you. he often invites you to the library with him or offers to take you out on vhagar. his favourite is when you sit and read to him, his head in your lap and your hand absentmindedly running through his hair. more often than not be finds excuses just to be in your presence - he even returns in the evening after doing his daily activities to have dinner with you, most times even following you to the bathtub after. he just can’t stay away.

aegon is much different, more reluctant to openly declare his feelings but wanting you to feel special all the same. it mostly comes out behind closed doors, a gentle, softer side of him exposing itself. he’d take his time undressing you, caressing you slowly and actually putting your pleasure before his own, something he hasn’t done much with the many girls he’d been with over the years. additionally he often surprises you with lavish gifts, helpfully chosen by his mother more often than not but you appreciate it all the same.

alicent dotes on you sweetly but what makes you really feel special is how much trust she puts in you. she openly confides her deepest secrets in you and tells you her fears, just like you do with her. the two of you share dinner nearly every night where you discuss your days and stresses, you’re often the first one she comes to for council. it’s more about emotional intimacy than anything that shows you how special your relationship is. your chambers are usually filled with your shared whispers well into the night as the two of you lay in each others arms.

when rhaenyra is younger, especially after her brothers are born she is all for being rebellious and you love how special being included in that makes you feel. the two of you are constantly trying to outdo each other and it makes for some fond memories for the two of you as the years pass. she shows her affection to you by simply making you feel wanted and important - she invites you everywhere, always asks for your advice and she especially loves when you reassure her of her position. rhaenyra is also always complimenting you - your dresses, your body, your hair - she’ll say anything to make you blush. it’s been noted in court how often she leans over to you to whisper something in your ear, often leaving you giggling or blushing.

daemons way of showing affection is purely sexual. he’s handsy at the best of times and lecherous at the worst, often pawing at you even when there’s others around - showing everyone that you’re completely his as he is yours. in the bedroom he takes utter care of you, even when he’s rough you can see it in his eyes how much he cares, can hear it in his voice when he murmurs dirty words in valyrian to you. it’s addicting and he refuses to stop until you’ve had a few orgasms at least. what makes your heart flutter the most is how protective he is of you and your marriage, even when he’s blunt when asking of your feelings and often doesn’t have much constructive things to make you feel better. he’d never hear a bad word about you, even if it’s from your own mouth. he’d kill for you and he has no problem proving it.

jacerys is nothing but devoted to you, completely. he surprises you constantly with little trinkets or books, things that mean something to you. he’d do anything to make you smile, only so he can compliment you on it. he’s loving and doting, always clearing gaps in his day to spend quality time with you when he can. he’s affectionate in every way, loving to give you soft kisses on your forehead or on your hand.

harwin is just completely soft for you and only you. he’s affectionate always, keeping a hand on you at all times. he’s protective but not overbearing, letting you do your own thing at balls and when you’re out in kings landing but keeping an eye on you all the same. he adores touching you and it’s usually the first thing he does when he returns to your chambers, takes you in his arms and holds you until he’s content to let go. when you’re alone together he’s glued to your side, even offering you massages just to get to touch you. he also loves teaching you to yield a sword, he laughs the whole time at your determination because let’s face it, you’re not beating him but the two of you enjoy it all the same. it always ends up with the two of you rolling around on the ground after you’ve thrown down your sword and tried to tackle him for too many teasing comments.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #harwin strong x reader #jacerys velaryon x reader

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shaarlslec · 1 year

Text

me and the devil

words: 4554

introduction/part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5

warnings/notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to enemies to lovers type of a thing, both of them being pricks, slight manipulation;

inspired by: Soap&Skin - Me And The Devil, The Neighborhood - Afraid, The Academic - Why Can’t We Be Friends?, lovelytheband - i like the way, The Wombats - Turn , Wallows - Pleaser

masterlist

“I came here because I–” Charles paused, backing two steps away from you. Fuck, even the idea of your bodies being departed just inches away drove Charles mad because he wanted for that space to not even exist in the first place, and yet he had to keep it cool around you – that what was he was advised, “Your war declaration impressed me.”

Summer break came and gone with you two not even exchanging a single text. There was no room for that anymore. You were at war now. At least, that is how Charles has put it in the words of his newest interview for GQ during the summer break.

“You have quite a tight gap between you and your teammate, and as far as everyone remembers it – that has not happened for you in the last two years. What changed within the team due to that? What has happened in between the two of you because as we all know it – you used to be Y/N mentor.” The interviewer dared to scoop; camera pointed to only Charles who was comfortably seating down nodding his head slowly as the words flooded the room.

“Mentor is a huge word to use here.” Charles has confidently responded, eyes piercing the camera as if he was talking to you and not an entire audience, “Y/N is an extremely talented driver, and I had the chance to watch that closely since the beginning of her racing career – and I am grateful for that.” Your teammate spoke with tensed back and shoulders, “The team priorities remined the same as they were at the beginning of the season – that is to win another championship, and to answer all of your questions,” Charles then paused, shortly inhaling the heavy air in the room as if you were there to witness the words, “I and Y/N are at war, and we will do our best for our mutual feelings to not scrouge the team’s priorities.” He added, eyes titling down at his shoes for a while to take another breather before glaring up at the interviewer again, “Next question.” He ended, almost demanding.

“He is a fucking child.” You muttered as you watched the interview next to your manager who basically forced you to watch the video, “How am I younger than him and yet the one to abstain herself from such comments?” You voiced with that burning aching feeling of your chest deepening as Charles’ heavy breaths stood as main remainders of the last time you saw each other back in the hotel room, “We are adults for God’s sake, not children playing Warzone.”

An amused side-eye came from your manager whose phone went back into their back pockets for their hands to fully lock on their torso, “Can I say something, Y/N?” They asked, waiting patiently for you to nod, “Charles angers you – and that is good.” They added, “That is if you keep it professional.”

Your eyes rolled, figuring out that you do really hate this phase. Does not sound like us, Charles’ voice reverberated in the back of your mind, “What if I do not?” You questioned, thinking about all the times in which you were almost ready to give up the whole professionalism into your being in front of him.

“You have to deal with the consequences of trying to beat the one you lose your mind for inside and outside the track.” They uttered, both of you knowing damn well that means trouble for the career you fought so much to pave.

“Enough about Charles.” You spoke, being the demanding one now, “Let me enjoy the last couple of days before I have to face him again, don’t mention him for this time being.” You added, and you could swear that you heard your manager saying “as if you don’t what that” underneath their breath.

You fought a paradox that was not only yours to bear, thoughtless of you to think that you were the only one tormented by the idea – Charles was too. Is just that Charles Leclerc had a different coping mechanism that you did. While you were trying to avoid anything online remotely linked to your teammate, Charles preferred to keep in-check your social media and to engage in every single conversation that you were mentioned in. No matter how cold and assertive he would have wanted to look when any questions about you was directed towards him, Charles enjoyed being put in such position. The Monegasque loved to be challenged, and what such thrill that you were the one to do it. You pushed him to strive for the better at the same time as you were alarming him.

“Does she bother you that much?” Arthur asked his brother watching Leclerc scrolling through your Instagram before dinner, “That you have to watch her every step even if you are not competing?” The youngest Leclerc had inquired in almost silence as he was careful of the others gathered at the family dinner to not hear them speak, “Kinda stalk-ish, if you ask me.” He then mocked, eyebrows playfully twitching up.

“Well, I did not ask you.” Charles replied as the phone was placed back in the pocket, “And yes, Y/N does bother me.” Your teammate declared, switching glare with his little brother who happened to be one of your closest friends within the sport. Yes, you had a thing for the Leclerc’s brothers.

“Then, let me be the first one to tell you that she will drive you insane.” Arthur amplified with a sharp look towards his brother who was confusedly staring back at him, “I know you two well enough to figure out who will be the one to snap first.” Arthur mumbled, and then the conversation got interrupted by the arrival of the food and the fuss that created around the table.

Charles weighted Arthur’s words. Arthur was quite right. Being that close in age with Arthur, you two grew up basically together through the junior leagues of F1. And yet, you were two steps ahead of the little Leclerc ever since the beginning. You got into F2, Arthur followed two years later despise the age gap and the relations the family had. You got into F1; Arthur struggled for another two years into F2 before making it into a midfield team alongside you who was already signed for Ferrari at that time. You were cunning, and both Leclerc were pretty much aware of that.

Charles has watched you being ahead of his brother throughout the years, and yet Arthur never quite lost his mind over you as Charles did. Arthur had always kept it calm, and your friendship was never affected by who scored the most points or who was the best amongst the two of you – why was it different for Charles?

Your teammate circulated around that question for the entirety of the dinner as everyone was trying to grab his attention with whatever question that ended up being answered by Arthur rather than Charles. He is stressed, don’t mind him. Arthur would say, trying to switch the focus from his brother to literally anything else.

Yes, Charles was extremely stressed out, but not over whatever people at the table thought that evening. It was not about the following races or even about winning the championship anymore – it was all about you and the way in which you bothered him that seemed to be very much very different from the way in which you made Arthur behave towards you.

Charles had enough time to pick his brains about this inquiry until the next time you saw each other (a couple of days down the road). You met him before practice for that weekend’s race due to your media duties. You two had to film a C2 challenge that consisted in who was the teammate that knew the other the best through answering questions about the other. You huffed as your colleagues showed you the question prompts. What were Charles’ favorite food, movie, ideal date, and celebrity crush. When did Charles won his first grand prix, what corner is his favorite out of the corners at Monza and so on. They also passed you a sheet with all the answers – and they did the same for Leclerc in other room.

“I don’t need this.” You both spoke, pushing the answer sheets away, “Most of these are wrong, anyway.” Charles and you added, glaring over your PR team.

The filming set was simple. Two chairs standing one in front of the other in the Ferrari’s garage. It was supposed to be like that, no big fuss or huge thing. You needed to show the people that were watching you that you still get along, that what happened before the summer break has no impact on you whatsoever. Those were the instructions you both received before entering the garage, now seating one in front of the other with cards gripped in both of your hands, not daring to look at each other now.

“Ok Charles, you can start.” Someone announced, and the cameras rolled. Charles begun with the introduction; eyes fixed on the camera before turning them on you. You almost flinched when Charles shifted his glare, and yet you knew that you needed to prove (to you mostly, and to him) that he was not moving you in any shape or form. Do not stand in my way. You gulped, the sweet tone that Charles was using was quite different from what he has portrayed back in the hotel room.

“We are here to find how much we know about each other.” Charles intoned, leaning back into his chair as he was piercing you, “Do you feel confident that you can win this too?” He asked, and that was for the very first time when he was addressing you after three long weeks.

You sustained the man’s glare, “How about we turn this into a speed-round?” You asked with an arched brow, “See whoever answers faster.” You teased, giving a side-eye to your managers and the team who was confused as for why you were changing the rules of the game but agreeing with your plead anyhow as soon as they heard an affirmative answer coming from Leclerc.

“Sure, why not. Five questions per person, half a minute for answers.” Charles confidently spoke, and you could swear you were the only one to see his small smile turning into a nifty smirk with the intention of intimidation.

Charles Leclerc was not intimating to you anymore as he was back in the days – it was the other way around now. You were the one who troubled him the most, and not vice-versa.

“Favorite dish?” Charles inquired, knocking his knee with the edges of the cards,

“Pasta, easy.” You immediately spoke as you slightly rolled your eyes, “But not anything that involves seafood in them, especially well-cocked shrimps.” You added, mimicking his pose as you relaxed your back in the chair as well.

Charles nodded proudly, and he kept doing that as long as the questions were asked, and your answers never fail to impress him and everyone around. You knew him, oh you knew him too well.

“My turn.” You declared, leaving the cards to fall on your knees as you crossed your arms at your chest, “Favorite spot to hang out after a race?” You inquired, not starting as easy as he did with the questions about himself.

“Trick question right from the start.” Charles laughed, “Depends on the city we are in – sometimes is some tiny hidden restaurants deep in the center of the city, and sometimes is up-hill somewhere.” He spoke, and you were not expecting him to remember all of that right from the start, “Also, when you are racing home – you always take the car and drive around the city for whole hours.” Charles replied, adding more to the answer perhaps for him to prove that he can beat you at this game as well or for you to know that he had as much attention as your stories at you had at his.

You nodded, “Very good, Leclerc.” You breathed before getting into the next questions that Charles answered in the same fashion as you did his – some of them even better.

The whole crew let you talk while your mangers were exchanging worried glances. That was the interaction of two people that are deeply interested in each other (the amount of effort you both put into remembering all those details about the other was insane). It was clear for them then, as it was for the whole team that you only pretend to despise each other. No person who hates the other could have known what their first childhood memory was or that they hate the taste of salted caramel cappuccinos. The game went on as a speed-round for a couple of minutes, until it was Charles’ turn again to ask you the questions.

“What is your relationship with my brother?” Charles suddenly inquired, and all eyes widened in the room (that type of question was nowhere on the cards).

Your eyes widened too, “Is this question about you or me?” You replied with a nervous laugh.

“It implicates us both.” He answered back, glare as sharp as a knife and voice steady as if he was almost scolding you.

“It implicates me and Arthur.” You spoke, hearing the cameraman shutting the camera down with a click as the atmosphere thickened between you and Charles, “If you are that curious – you should ask your brother then. I am sure you are closer with him that you are with me.” You muttered, wondering if it was jealousy you sensed in the tone of your teammate or simply new-found curiosity.

“You are the one in front of me now – I am asking you.” Charles fought back, but his intentions were cut shut by the Communications Manager.

“Ok guys, enough content for today.” She spoke with a little amused smile on her face, being one of many wondering what your answer is if this conversation continues any further but knowing that a scoop into your personal life would not be the best way to promote your relationship to the public, “Go take five, you two have other interviews to attend before the practice.”

“And for God’s sake,” Your manager interfered after a heavy breath, “Can you two behave for five whole minutes without attacking the other?” They asked, watching you already leaving your seat while Charles’ glare never budged from where you stood, “Y/N wait –” They rushed, following you out of the garage back into your motorhome.

“Why are you getting so worked up for?” They questioned you once they breathless caught you from behind, you were quicker than any normal person not only when driving but when you were walking too, “It was just a silly question—”

“Leclerc has no reason to be jealous.” You confessed, leaning your body on one of the walls, “Why does he act the way he does in front of other people too?” You inquired, temples pounding at the verges of your head, “Why does he care about my relationships with other drivers, have I ever asked him how well he gets along with other girls? No.” You vented; your manager perplexed shutting the door behind you two.

Charles stood from his chair after you left the room, everyone in the room was eyeing him. He adjusted his voice by coughing twice, “I guess we need to film the outro for the video some other day.” Charles simply said to your Communication Manager.

“There is no need, we will figure out something without you two in the same shoot.” She implied with furrowed brows, “But perhaps –” She paused, watching Leclerc position both of his hands at his hips, “Keep your cool in front of the cameras with Y/N, alright?”

“What do mean? Have I said something wrong?” Charles inquired, looking around the room for someone to back him up. Yet, no one did so.

“Not exactly Charles.” She answered, “But if looks could kill, you would have murdered Y/N right in front of us.”

Charles’ gulped his words before he could say something, the realization kicked in. Arthur was right – you were driving him insane. The worst part of all that? That everybody around you two was seeing that, and yet Charles acted clueless.

Focus was on the race on Sunday, after one successful qualifying session during which you got third place on the grid and Charles first. Yet, Charles had PU changes that pushed him five places back in the grid. You were ahead of him, and you were planning to keep it that way. No matter how much Charles managed to anger you outside the track, you had to take all of that and put in inside of it.

You had a good start, pushing Max on P2 and now you were chasing Russell. As you were not seeing Charles’ car in your mirrors, you kept your calm for half of the race when you took the opportunity to pass Russell too in a tight corner – exactly how Leclerc has taught you before.

It was a tough race for Charles, but a very good one for you. The minor PU changes seemed to not perform as well as the team expected on Charles’ car, so he struggled in P4 for most of the race.

It rarely happened for Charles not to be on the podium, and he needed that now more than ever for his own ego because your finish in P1 meant equality in points in the championship if he was not to pass Russell ahead of him. Xavi announced him that through the radio, while your race engineer spoke just these words to you: Y/N please abandon the fastest lap.

And yet, Russell was unyielding in P3 pissed by Max passing him five laps before the checked flag and you were angered by your team’s message. Leclerc must be in P4 still, you thought. With an open distance and a considerable gap between you and Max, you pushed all the limits of your body and that car to disobey the team’s orders without saying anything back to them as a reply.

You took P1 and you took the fastest lap of the race too. One point ahead of Charles Leclerc in the championship, and oh how much would that upset sweet little Charles.

The crowd was in awe for the second time in a row, and you were more than pleased to take the fourth trophy home for the season as well as you were thrilled to be asked how it feels to lead the championship for the first time through your F1 career before hopping on a well-deserved podium.

“What do you think your teammate has to say to this swift in points?” The Sky interviewer asked, and you would have wished for your punch to knock that man right then and there. It was your time to shine, yours and yours alone. And yet, of course – they had to ask about him, cause how can someone take the spotlight from their dearest champ?

You furrowed your eyebrows; the thought of Charles has not crossed your mind up until this stupid question. What managed to anger you now was not your teammate, but your foolish team orders. And yet, you had to give them what they wanted. Meaningless to say, you loved the chaos as much as Charles did especially during high rushes of adrenaline as now.

“As he declared – we are at war, aren’t we?” You giggled, whipping the sweat off your forehead with a smirk sprinkled on your wet face, “All of us are here to win.” You added, saved by the bell of timing as Max was asked to replace you.

Charles watched from the side, and within even his own surprise – a small smile split his face as the answer flew to the man’s ears.

Oh, the game is on.

Xavi went to apologize to Charles at the exact moment when the people in your team were hugging and congratulation you.

“I don’t need apologies, Xavi.” Charles spoke, eyes watching your every move as you went up to the podium, “I need solutions.” The Monegasque then declared, leaving the spot next to Xavi who he left wordless to go and wait for you in front of your motorhome. A warning for you seemed to not be enough, therefore Charles has decided to step up his game seeing that you did that on your own.

You were startled once you saw him at your door with his race suit half on and arms locked at his chest, “You again.” You almost sobbed beneath your gutted breath, “What do you want now?” You questioned, passing by him to open the door for him to follow you inside, another tantrum was not ideal to be witnessed by people passing, “You need to stop following me in such fashion – people might think that you are in love with me or something.” You teased, turning on your heel for now to watch him closely inches away from you as he stopped his steps right before your bodies could have tinged.

Charles said nothing to your remark. You rolled your eyes at his silence, “It is just a joke, you don’t even know how to joke anymore?” You continued, undressing from your racing suit as he was watching. Putting it half down just as him, you placed both of your hands on your hips with an annoyed look on your face, “Have you come here just to stare?” You wondered, Charles’ silence weighting as seconds passed by.

You huffed, “You are the one who did it first, Leclerc. Don’t pretend that I am the one who put us in such position.”

“Oh, so you have been watching me.” He promptly replied, your eyes rolling again as the grin on Charles’ face extended.

“Don’t gloat.” You spoke despite all the cravings inside of you that commanded wiping that man’s smile with a slap or a lock of mouths, “You are the one who has been stalking me on social media.” You replied, an immediate reaction on Charles’ face in the form of a twitched eyebrow and a nervous chuckle.

“I got my answer then.” Charles breathed, back now glued on one of your walls putting as much distance as he could in between the two of you, “You are that close with my brother so that he can rat me out to you.” He continued, one of his hands stretching the back of his neck.

Nervous, you made him nervous once again. You knew you would, and you were smart enough to figure out that the Leclerc brothers had been talking about you over the summer break for Arthur to send you a text saying What have you done to my brother that your name pops up first in his searches?

“What was with that question, anyway?” You asked with your shoulders tensed up, being impossible to fully relax all your body underneath the man’s gaze even after the race’s rush of adrenaline wore off, “You know that I and Arthur are friends, he was the one who introduced you to me.” You recollected, flashes of your first talk with Leclerc flickering in the back of your mind: when he was sweet, kind and caring, and when your crush on him started.

“I needed answers, Y/N.” Charles sighed, switching his weight from the back foot on the one standing closer to you as he made its way back into your space. Damn, Charles Leclerc was indecisive, “Why it is different for me than it is for Arthur when it comes to you.” He declared, hand up in the air now to touch your cheek.

You were startled at first, of course you were. Three weeks ago, Charles seemed to you like he could not even stand the idea of you touching his hand, and now his was on you. And yet, you caved in as his hand cupped your already rosy cheeks. No matter how much you would have liked to resist, your body told the story. He pulled your head up, close to his mouth. Oh, so damn close.

“Maybe because you are different people, and I and Arthur always have known where we stand.” You spoke, watching the little reddened spots that were still on Leclerc’s face from wearing the helmet, “You and I?” You added, touching the reddish line with the tips of your fingers, “We have yet to find out.” You continued, getting up on the edges of your foot to match Leclerc’ energy and to make the distance in between your lips to slowly fade away, “Too bad that we will not find that very soon.” You added, lips almost caressing before you snatched away from Charles, leaving him all hot and sweaty in front of you, “I know what you are doing, Charles.” You warned, steps away from him now.

“What am I doing?” Charles innocently and all confused spoke, arm hanging out around his body having none of you to touch anymore.

“You are trying to find my weak spot.” You explained with almost watery eyes, “That is you.” You acknowledged after a short breath, “You made me not care about you in the same way as I did before two years ago when you decided to play the devil card.” You continued with what were full-blown lies told to Charles in the most convincing tone, “You are not going to make me go easy on you for the remining races by making me fall in love with you, again.” You demanded as your heart broke, “Dare to touch me again when you really mean it.” You intoned, “Or do not touch me at all.”

Charles’ stare sharpened, “That is not what was I tryin—”

“Get out.” You managed to speak, “I need to change.” You lied, all you needed was a moment of peace caused by the turbulences of your heart jumping back and forth just as Charles’ steps towards you.

“Fine then.” Charles spoke, “If that is what you want.” He added, turning his back on you but not before throwing the following words behind his shoulder, “Just be aware that you are the one who is playing the devil card now – turning into me.”

Your eyes remined fixed on Charles’ back until he was out of your sight. When Charles did so, giving one last look over the shoulder – Charles’ hand went to his heart first before balancing around his body. Yes, you figured out your teammate’s plan. Charles came to find you to suede you, and yet the impact of his throbbing heart hurting within his chest was something he was not expecting to feel.

Charles needed another plan for him to not become the one who’s played by his own intentions, and yet what he saw inside your flaming eyes when your lips were so close to him aroused Charles’ entire body. Fuck, how could Charles had convinced you that part of him was really meaning it – that touching you was everything he needed, wanted, craved with or without his third title.

#all i need is the she felt first he felt harder trope #that's all #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 fiction #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 x female reader

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thatfeelinwhenyou · 9 months

Text

KINDRED — 09

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

smau + written (2.4k words)

❥･• episode 9 — operation we-don’t-really-hate-each-other

As the production crew ushers you into the room, your heart races with excitement. The once-deserted classroom has undergone a remarkable transformation, now standing as a confessional studio bathed in the warm glow of overhead lights. An intricate web of cameras and meticulous lighting equipment encircles two inviting stools, positioned neatly right next to each other. The aura within is electric, humming with a blend of excitement and tension.

Amidst this carefully orchestrated symphony of activity, the leading producer paces about, her brows furrowed in concentration, as she meticulously scrutinises the script clutched in her hands for what you assume is the nth time. Nearby, a small brigade of cameramen work with precision, each minor adjustment made to capture the most exquisite angles. And it hit you—this is really happening.

You nod attentively as you receive instructions from the crew that they will be filming the opening sequence to the documentary today, asking only a few questions to you and none other than Yang Jungwon.

Fully embracing the captivating allure of reality TV, complete with its intriguing and heart-pounding suspense, the producer resolutely quashes your hopeful plea for a sneak peek at those darn interview questions.

Frankly speaking, you are a bundle of jitters. It was known to the whole school that you were the embodiment of preparation; concepts securely etched into your mind, and meticulously crafted notes that served as your guide through yours exams. But now, standing right smack in the middle of the room, you're like a lost puppy wandering into uncharted waters. Yet, determined to guard your vulnerability from prying eyes, particularly those of Yang Jungwon's, you employ a carefully constructed façade of coy self-assurance.

And then, as if on cue, he materialises—a figure cast in a demeanour that is both effortlessly casual and frustratingly unperturbed. A pang of annoyance mingles with the surge of nerves as he nonchalantly strolls into the room (just five minutes late, as always).

"Yang Jungwon?" The words cut through the air, tinged with a hint of impatience. "Take a seat, would you? We're on a tight schedule." The crew member ushers him with practised efficiency toward the vacant stool at your side. A sharp, involuntary cringe tugs at your features as your gazes inadvertently lock for a fleeting moment. It's like this weird mix of nerves and irritation—a little tug-of-war playing out in plain sight.

"Shall we begin?" The authoritative resonance of Producer Choi's voice cuts through the room, casting a spell of anticipation over the set. Settling gracefully onto her stool, she assumes a poised stance behind the camera. You offer a subtle nod, a silent testament to your readiness that doesn’t escape her notice. Jungwon's eyes, however, roll in a gesture that practically screams his disdain for what he perceives as your pretentious façade of a good-girl persona.

"Alright, let’s kick things off." Producer Choi declares, her tone dripping with intrigue. Her gaze sweeps over you both, the opening chord of this unforeseen duet. "We've got a series of questions lined up, and all you need to do is answer them as best you can."

“First off, let's get those introductions going." With a pointed gesture, Producer Choi directs her attention toward Jungwon, signalling for him to lead the charge.

"Yang Jungwon, age nineteen, Taekwondo athlete," he utters, his words a blend of confidence and haste. He concludes with an almost reluctant scoff, a rebellion against formalities he can't entirely suppress. The edge of his scoff doesn't go unnoticed; his message is clear even as he chooses to ignore your presence. You, however, are not one to be silenced. Rolling your eyes with a mix of exasperation and amusement, you address the cameras with a poised smile.

"Greetings, dear viewers. I am Park Y/N, a final-year student at Decelis Academy and student body president for the Decelis Student Council. It’s an honour to be here.” Your words hold an unspoken challenge, one pointed towards Yang Jungwon and the inexplicable sense of rivalry the two of you built up.

The camera falls silent as Producer Choi brings her decisive hand into play, her frustration tangible. "Jungwon, I need more enthusiasm, and Y/N, this isn't a grand ceremony; there’s no need for the formalities." The faint sound of a stifled laugh brushes against your ears, a reaction you steadfastly choose to ignore. "Let’s try that again."

"Moving on to the next question, could you each briefly describe your after-school curriculum?”

"For me," you begin with a candid note in your tone, "if there's no student council business demanding my attention, I’ll usually be in the library, my unofficial second home. I catch up on lectures and assignments there." You let out a small, self-aware chuckle. "I guess everyone in the school knows where to find me if they need something-"

"Oh, absolutely, she's practically a monk. Always got her nose in a book and apparently, other people’s businesses." Jungwon's voice cuts in with the precision of a finely honed blade, his words tinged with an undercurrent of amusement. The interruption draws a sigh of irritation from you, but you forge ahead. You're quick to retake the spotlight, your voice a dance of resolve and exasperation.

"I suppose you could say that. With free time on my hands, I've come to believe in putting it to good use." A casual shrug punctuates your response, and you cast a sidelong glance at the boy seated beside you, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"I mean, why not, right?" You continue, your words a challenge woven in playful nonchalance. "If there's time to spare, I'd rather channel it into something productive." The tilt of your chin conveys an invitation for his response—an unspoken duel of words and wits. You throw him an artful smile, a silent promise of your tenacity to match his.

"If we're talking productivity," Jungwon retorts, his words a measured challenge, "I'm an athlete. So, after-school training is a part of my routine. Not everyone's got their head buried in books.” His gaze locks with yours, and the tension between you is palpable.

It's like a duel of wills—a silent battle neither of you intends to back down from. The intensity is so thick, it's as if you're caught in a staring contest, each vying for the upper hand. The world around you fades into the background, leaving only the simmering tension that crackles like electricity.

The only interruption is a slight cough, and the reality of the situation rushes back as awareness dawns that you're being captured on camera. Reality snaps back into focus, and you're acutely aware of the weight of expectations resting on your shoulders. The watchful eyes of not only the production crew but also the prestigious universities, the very ones your mother has been weaving dreams of, are watching your every move.

Your glare softens, your defiance tempered by a reminder of your surroundings. With a subtle adjustment of your posture, you manage a quiet apology under your breath, a concession to the circumstances.

Jungwon, on the other hand, wears a triumphant smirk, his victory achieved by stirring a reaction out of you, evidently content that he managed to get under your skin.

"There seems to be some tension lingering between you two. Care to elaborate on your relationship?" Producer Choi's inquiry comes with a raised eyebrow and an undercurrent of curiosity clearly dancing in her eyes. The unspoken rivalry that simmers between you and Jungwon has clearly captured her attention.

Unbeknownst to her before casting the two of you, this uncharted territory has presented itself as a thrilling discovery, painted across her face in a delighted smile. The promise of raw content and untamed drama is endless—the very essence of what a reality TV show thrives upon.

"We're exactly as you see it," Jungwon answers, his voice cool and his words laced with a mix of indifference and disdain. He rises from his seat with an air of defiance, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "No relationship, just mutual detestment." His tongue clicks with emphasis, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. "Are we done here? I've got places to be."

Producer Choi concedes to his request, her words are a concession to the present circumstances. "I suppose that’s enough for today. We'll reconvene after school at your respective activities." Her tone takes on a breezy cadence, but it's clear that her expectations won't be sidestepped.

"As we discussed, Mondays will be separate shoots, but to uphold our end of the bargain, we need both of you together for the rest of the week. Agreed?" Her assumption of authority, coupled with her audacity to steer the situation, is a stark contrast to the formality she adopts when conversing with your teachers. While annoyance simmers within you, you refrain from voicing your thoughts.

The feeling doesn’t seem to be an isolated thought when your gaze shifts to Jungwon, finding his eyes locked on yours. The unspoken words that sit on the tip of his tongue threaten to escape, his teeth grazing his lower lip in contemplation. However, he brushes off the impulse, and his exit from the classroom is marked by a subtle tension, with the cameras following closely behind him—a testament to the intricate predicament you've found yourselves in.

You, on the other hand, leave the classroom after wrapping up a few more questions. Missing your first period was already stressful enough, but there's something about Producer Choi that sets off alarm bells in your head, reminding you of those bossy characters you thought only existed in dramas.

Lost in thought, you walk down the deserted hallway, quickening your pace to make it to second period on time. Your distraction becomes even more apparent as you inadvertently pass by Yang Jungwon, leaning casually against the lockers.

"Park," his familiar voice halts you in your tracks, and you glance back to find him looking straight at you. Was he... waiting for you?

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have places to be?” You mock him, recalling his cold demeanor in the classroom. He scoffs in response, rolling his eyes, “Can we talk?”

"Depends. If you're here to lecture me about Taekwondo again, save it."

“As much as I would love to annoy you with my apparent obsession with my own sport, but no, it’s about the documentary.” Jungwon pushes himself off the lockers and walks over to you. Just then, from the corner of his eye, he spots the production crew turning the corner, and in a fit of panic, he grabs your hand and pulls you away from the building. Before you could even process it, he was already dragging you half-way across the campus.

“Let go! What is it that you can’t just tell me over text?” You manage to yank your hand free, irritation simmering. “It’s already bad enough that I have to put up with that tyrant of a producer; I really don’t need you adding to it.”

"Normally, I'd disagree, but thank fucking God you find that woman as irritating as I do."

“The way she spoke to us? Sure, I signed a contract, but I’m not her puppet.” He places a hand on his hip, an action oddly reminiscent of your grandmother when she would scold you for not visiting her more often. The image loiters in your mind as you stifle a laughter that unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungwon.

“What’s so funny?” He raises his eyebrows, and you shake your head to brush him off, but it only fuels his curiosity even more. “I’m assuming you dragged me all the way here to discuss Producer Choi?” His annoyance is evident, as he nods vigorously. It's an unexpected sight—Yang Jungwon, the epitome of nonchalance, riled up by a woman not much older than him. It's kind of endearing, but you would rather die than admit that out loud, so you bury that atrocious thought in the back of your head.

“Speaking of which, she couldn’t even hide her delighted expression when she found out we practically hate each other-”

“Whoa, ‘hate’ is a pretty strong word. If that's your opinion of me, okay, but I definitely don't hate you. Just a minor difference." You spoke without thinking yet again, and although Beomgyu would be very disappointed if he were here with you, the sentiment is out there now.

Jungwon seems taken aback by your confession, hurriedly clearing his throat. "As I was saying, she's clearly trying to stir up drama, as if I'd willingly play along." He scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his tongue poking the insides of his cheeks.

“I know you’re taking a risk on this documentary, and don’t even bother denying it because I know you’re trying to gain publicity and favour.”

"How did you—did Sunoo tell you?"

"That's not the point; the thing is, I am too."

"And what university would even take YOU?" He rolls his eyes at your teasing, not bothering to argue.

"I'm an athlete, remember? A Taekwondoin on top of that. I have a really important competition next month, and God forbid that I be shown on national television as someone who picks fights with girls. It goes against the sport's values." He explains, trying to get his point across. Sadly, it flies over your head.

"Seriously? My point is that we need to act as if we don't hate—well, dislike—each other. I know we said we'd ignore each other, but now she's making you sit in for my trainings and me study with you in the library. It's physically impossible." He shudders at the thought of having to even step foot into that place, and though you really wish you didn’t have to be around him, Jungwon is right—there's no escaping this situation.

You sort of know you're heading down the deep end when Producer Choi insists on having you and Jungwon sit side-by-side in class, despite the documentary's official filming schedule commencing only after school. The array of cameras meticulously arranged around your classroom, ostensibly to capture mundane "B-Roll" footage, fuels your suspicions. Deep down, you're well aware that their true purpose is to capture any moment of vulnerability or connection between you and Jungwon.

It doesn't require a genius to discern their ulterior motive—they're determined to exploit your relationship for the camera's sake. The bizarre part is, this isn't even a dating show. The intention behind it all remains an enigma, leaving you to grapple with the looming uncertainty that now defines your academic life.

I guess you can say that ‘Operation We-Don’t-Really-Hate-Each-Other’ is a go.

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♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @bubblytaetae

taglist open! @uuzhanggggggg @missingemobeomgyu @jiawji @ocyeanicc @s7noo @asterizee @j1nniee @noascats @yunwonie @saturnmooonxx @enhaz1 @jiaant11 @clairecottenheart

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haggishlyhagging · 6 months

Text

Get "power" by "surrendering" and "submitting" to your man's every whim, a leading '80s self-help manual advises in typical feminist-sounding rhetoric. Don't talk back, because a ladylike silence will "enhance" your "self-respect" and "feeling of mastery." "Take charge . . . of your courtship," suggests another popular text. "Overcome obstacles," so you can get married. The pseudofeminist title of one 1989 advice book puts it most succinctly: Women Who Marry Down and End Up Having It All.

While the backlash therapy books may be written in feminist ink, they blot out the most basic precept of feminist therapy—that both social and personal growth are important, necessary, and mutually reinforcing. This is a view that was supported, albeit in a rather degraded, commercialized form, in the leading self-help manuals of the 70s; in 1975, The New Assertive Woman issued an "Everywoman's Bill Of Rights" that called for "the right to be treated with respect" and "the right to be listened to and taken seriously." The '80s advice writers, by contrast, seemed to go out of their way to urge women to stop challenging social constraints and to keep their thoughts to themselves—to learn to fit the mold rather than break it.

On no group of women did the self-help authors impress this message more strongly than the ones without wedding rings. The diagnosis was, underneath it all, little changed from the postwar era, when that era's leading advice book—Marynia Farnham and Ferdinand Lundberg's Modern Women: The Lost Sex—declared all single women neurotics and proposed subsidized psychotherapy to get them married. In the '80s, even advice experts more sympathetic to single women and the pressures they faced touted the same marital party line. In the popular 1988 advice book, If I'm So Wonderful, Why Am I Still Single?, counselor Susan Page acknowledges in her introduction that unwed women are contending with a social climate that is especially rough on them now; they are burdened by "the specific problems that our times have spawned, such as misogyny," she writes. But she's not interested in helping single women develop the self-confidence and internal strength they need to bear up under these antagonistic conditions. Nor does she propose that single women even question the culture's marital marching orders. "I want to accept certain sociological and psychological factors as given [her emphasis]," she writes. "In this book we will not discuss why [her emphasis] these conditions are as they are, and we will not lament them." What then should single women do to ease what Page calls the "Great Emotional Depression" that she says has descended on millions of them? Just change your single status, she proposes. She dispenses "strategies" only to make women more marketable for marriage.

The '80s backlash therapists firmly rejected another fundamental feminist principle—that men can, and should, change, too. "[L]ately it seems there is a rising tide of utter frustration among women concerning men," Smart Women/Foolish Choices observes, and a lot of women "always end up feeling disappointed by men." But Cowan and Kinder do not go on to consider what men might be doing to inspire such an outpouring of frustration, nor how men might change their behavior to make women feel better. Instead, the psychologists conclude that men are fine and any disappointment women feel is wholly self-generated. It's not the men who are "inadequate," the authors write; it's just that the women's "expectations are distorted." Women are just "hypercritical" of men. All would be well if women only learned to "truly understand men" and their "need for mastery and career success." Women would be happy if they only quit "pushing" the opposite sex to change and learned to "compromise."

Asked later what sort of compromises he had in mind, Kinder says: "Women could have their kids while they are still in college, and then, if they still want a career, they can do that after the kids are grown. You do have to make some sacrifices." What about fathers "sacrificing" by taking some responsibility for their children? Kinder, whose wife stayed at home to raise their children, mulls it over. "Yeah, well that would solve the problem," he says. "But men won't do it. And it's not our place to be saying things like that. We're not social engineers." Not, anyway, when it comes to men.

Confronted with the antifeminist implications of their message, the backlash therapists almost always issue a denial. "We're talking about broadening expectations, not settling for less, and that's not just a play on words," Cowan says. But it is exactly that—unless Cowan has already forgotten his own "Rules for Finding the Right Man" in Smart Women. Rule #8: "Fewer expectations lead to greater aliveness."

Some of the therapists attacking women's liberation most forcefully claimed, in fact, to be proponents themselves. As many media-conscious therapists in the '80s discovered, feminist-bashing "feminists" garnered the most airtime. Susan and Stephen Price, authors of the popular No More Lonely Nights: Overcoming the Hidden Fears That Keep You from Getting Married, were one such "feminist" husband-and-wife therapy team who got a lot of press mileage plugging this backlash diagnosis of modern single women: "androphobia." This "problem without a name," they wrote, shamelessly stealing Friedan's phrase, was a "deep-rooted intense fear of men" shared by most unmarried women over thirty, especially professional women. The cause: "You have been deeply influenced by feminism."

* * *

"These obsessive androphobic fears are a major ingredient in women's resistance to marriage today," Stephen Price is saying in his Manhattan office, a few weeks after his appearance on the "Today" show. "Now that we've reached the end of the women's movement, which is where our culture is today . . ." Here he hesitates, then says, "We both, of course, feel very pro the gains of the women's movement."

His wife, Susan, seated in the office's other therapeutic armchair, nods vigorously. "We're both feminists," she says. "In fact, it was almost me being a feminist that kept me from seeing these hidden fears developing. As a therapist I encouraged women to pursue careers. But what happened is, women escaped into their careers and they didn't put their energy into their relationships. Their feminist viewpoint became a trap." But if careers hurt women psychologically, then why do professional women consistently rank highest, as we've seen, in virtually all measures of mental health? The Prices have no answer.

In spite of their pro-feminist claims, the Prices seem to oppose every feminist tenet, from economic independence to sexual freedom. In their book and in their counseling sessions, they advise women to refrain not only from initiating sex but from having sex at all before marriage. "If the woman is sexually aggressive, the man might put her in the category of someone to go to bed with, period," Susan Price says. Evidence? "Fatal Attraction may be overdrawn in some ways, but you can really see that operating there," she says.

Unlike authentically feminist therapists, the Prices don't consider, much less confront, other forces at work in women's lives. They reinforce the era's isolation of single women by encouraging their female readers to see themselves as defective units, alone and isolated only by their own aberrant behavior. They advise women to "deal with your own personal crisis: What might you [their emphasis] be doing to make intimacy with a man impossible? What attitudes are keeping you [their emphasis] unavailable for marriage?" The primary offending attitude that the book singles out: an insistence on respect and equal treatment from one's mate. "The desire to avoid a submissive status in relationship to men can lead you into a loveless life," they assert. Again, there is no analysis of the attitudes of men, much less proposals for altering them. If a man mistreats a woman, she probably asked for it. "A resistant woman picks a resistant man," Susan Price says. "What we help single women to see is how what they think is a problem with the man is really something inside them." Don't men play any role in difficult relationships? "Probably it is a fifty-fifty proposition," Stephen Price concedes, shrugging. "But this book is focused on women—for the purpose of clarity."

While they don't actually support a feminist vision, the Prices are happy to appropriate the movement's activist language to promote their own agenda. They urge women to "take control" of their love lives by scaling back their career aspirations and to "gain power" over potential husbands by remaining celibate. "It's Up to You to Get Married," the manual instructs, this being the only arena, apparently, in which it's okay for women to take the initiative.

Androphobia may have a scientific ring, but it's not based on scientific research—or any research at all. "We just knew it was a phobia," Stephen Price says flatly. How? "Well, because there's an avoidance there." Pressed to explain what that means, Stephen Price falls silent. Finally, he says: "A lot of the dynamics of phobia are hidden. That's how we know it's a phobia. It's very hidden." This invisible phobia turned the Prices into very visible "marriage gurus," as they now call themselves. "We are inundated," Susan Price says happily. "We've been doing three radio shows a week. Women are calling up saying, what's your [marriage] success rate? We do sessions by phone. We have women flying in from out west. And we get so many letters from women saying they read our book and they realize now how they did it to themselves. They are grateful."

It turns out that Susan Price does actually support feminist principles in one way—for herself. "When we first married, Steve couldn't understand my need for my own career and not wanting to be a homemaker," she recalls. "I got jobs [to support him] while he was in graduate school. He was being groomed for a career and what was I doing?" First she became a schoolteacher, but she didn't find it fulfilling enough. "I decided I wanted to be a therapist. So I went back to graduate school. The kids were still babies at the time. We hired a lot of baby-sitters and put them in a lot of nursery schools." Was any of this a mistake? "Oh, no. I love what I do."

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#susan faludi #marriage #self help #antifeminism #female oppression #male entitlement #the more things change the more they stay the same

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hoshieeyewrinkles · 4 months

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Obsessed neighbour! Hendery [Requested]

Tw: non-con, slightly gore, manipulation, degradation, slut-shaming, hendery is fucked up. [I have warned you, read further at your risk]

Obsessed neighbour! hendery just moved in recently right beside your house. He is the same age as you and you couldn't help but develop a silly little crush on him. He was rich, hot as fuck and smart. How could you not like him?

Obsessed neighbour! Hendery who is such a gentleman and your parents love him, trusting him around you.

Obsessed neighbour! Hendery who followed you on all your social handles on the very first day you greeted him. You are unsure of how he found them but you aren't complaining.

Obsessed neighbour! Hendery who persistently asks you about your whereabouts, your college, your friends, love life. Your crush, fading away with time as he starts to get annoying.

Obsessed neighbour! Hendery where he starts to creep you out with his weirdly obsessed and controlling behaviour "Where the fuck are you going wearing that? Damn does your parents know that you dress up like a slut?"

Obsessed neighbour! Hendery who talks to your parents about your male friends and how they touch you inappropriately. Your parents trust his words over you, and grounds you. "I always wish the best for her..."

Obsessed neighbour! Hendery is seriously making your life a living hell for the next few months. He's really getting on your nerves, spreading rumors about you all around the neighborhood just to keep the guys away from you. And to make things worse, your parents are totally embarrassed by it and won't even let you go out anymore. You can just see the satisfaction on Hendery's face as he watches you through his window, being locked in your bedroom.

Obsessed neighbour! Hendery who enters your home when your parents are out of town, finding you dressed in skimpy shorts and a tank top.

He immediately gets hard and corners you in the living room "Were you thinking of inviting any guy over hm, slut? Well you better not because this cunt is fucking mine." He rips off your tank top leaving your bare breast in his view. You started to scream loudly for help but he shushes you with a hard slap on your face. "Shut the fuck up, bitch. You are fucking mine."

He starts to suck your breasts like his last meal while rubbing your cunt through your thin cotton shorts. Terror curdled in your stomach as his gaze snagged yours. His eyes, usually warm and crinkled at the corners, were now wide and manic, the pupils dilated. They flickered over your face, each sweep etching a line of icy fear down your spine. His hand trembled as he raked it through his hair. A ragged breath escaped his lips, you saw the look of madness and obsession in his eyes, you were scared for your life. He pulled you in for a rough kiss, sucking on your tongue harshly. He moans in your mouth at the feeling of your slick dripping on his fingers.

"Yeah baby, I know you love me too. You are enjoying this like some real slut, mmm.."

He rips off your shorts, his eyes widened at your bare cunt which was dripping. Like a freak, he buries his face in your cotton shorts licking the wetness off them while moaning loudly. You were still frozen, afraid to make any move. Eyes glossy and mouth parted open to catch your breath after the kiss.

"You seem terrified, baby. I truly adore you, and to prove it, I've carved your name into my stomach," he declared confidently, baring his stomach and revealing the freshly engraved wound. Your reaction was a gasp of shock at the sight. In a state of utter fear, you yelled at him, "You're completely insane!" This only made him laugh, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"For you my sweets," He whispered, his voice raspy as he attacked your breasts again. You couldn't help but let out little moans, your body reacting instinctively. This only aroused him more. He hurriedly lowers his sweatpants and you take the chance to move but he is faster, yanking you down by your hair. You let out a loud cry as he slaps your face again. "Wanna run, huh?"

He keeps you in a bent position inserting two fingers in your wet cunt. "You are such a needy slut" he chuckled, his fingers furiously going in and out. The wet gushing sounds reaching your ears, you bit your lip to stop a loud moan from slipping out but hendery seemed to notice that as he spanked your ass, jiggling the flesh in his hand.

"don't hold back your moans pretty baby!" He said inserting and another finger which caused a loud moan to slip through your lips. The feeling of pleasure was undeniable and you felt disgusted to be aroused in such a situation where he was forcing himself on you. You didn't know how long he kept fingering you, his thick fingers bringing you to your high. He mouth was slightly parted, tongue running over his lips and eyes darkened with lust.

"Are you gonna cum, you whore? it feels good, yeah?" He questioned going faster than before, you let out a silent scream before squirting all over his bare abs. Your cum droplets spilling over his wound making him hiss in twisted pleasure. "Have you dumb just with my fingers, baby" he whispered watching you close your eyes letting out whimpers, your own fingers running over your clit. "Mhm....." You let a whimper, tears falling from your eyes. You looked like a used whore.

Hendery's dick twitched at the sight in front of him as he dragged you by your hair towards his dick. "Suck my dick, show me that you love me too" he said pushing his fat cock in your mouth. You licked away his precum, slurping on his cock like your last meal. "Fuck, your mouth is so warm and wet like a real cunt" he groaned in pleasure throwing his head back. This was it, his dream. You will finally be his toy now, a cumslut who only knows to use her pussy and mouth.

He kept thrusting his cock inside your mouth, the room was starting to smell like cum and sweat. "Use your tongue, whore" he pulled your hair harshly making you wince in pain but you didn't stop, twirling your tongue around his tip. What was wrong with you? How could you enjoy this? All these thoughts running in your mind were now clouded with lust.

Hendery pulled out from your mouth as he felt himself closer to his release, positioning it towards your tits. He came all over them, his cum dripping down between the valley of your breast. "fuck, what a cock sucking whore... You are mine, baby. You are mine." He kept mumbling the last part like a madman. You fell back on the couch in exhaustion watching hendery scoop out his cum from your tits with his fingers bringing it closer to your lips. Sucking on his finger as he groaned in satisfaction at your obedience.

"Oh no baby, we are from being done done yet."

#wayv smut #wayv #hendery #hendery smut #nct smut #hendery x reader #wayv hendery #nct hendery #nct hard thoughts #nct hard hours #wayv hard hours #wayv hard thoughts #kpop smut #non con #perv nct

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pandorascrush · 1 year

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HUNTING YOU

CHAPTER II : ANYTHING

ALL WORK IS MY ORIGINAL WORK!!!

SUMMARY: The reader is a part of the Metkayina clan. She couldn't help herself as she watched and wanted Neytiri and Jake. Maybe it was because they were the first forest people she had ever seen. But she wanted them like a hunter wants its prey. Little did she know that they had also wanted her and were willing to hunt her if that was the only way they could have her.

WARNINGS: nsfw(18+), smut, minors dni, clit play, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, avatar/na'vi!jake, dilf!jake, fem!bodied reader, metkayina!reader, creampie, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dry humping, pet names (babygirl, dirty girl), poly relationship

PAIRING: jake sully x neytiri, jake sully x reader, neytiri x reader, jake sully x reader x neytiri

NOTES: My song suggestion for this part is… Burning Desire by Lana del Rey <3

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵

It had been a few days since you had caught them in the act of declaring that you would be theirs, you had decided on your plan the very same night that you returned to your mauri. You knew you had to be strategic since you were dealing with both of them. On one hand you wanted to take them at the same time but you just knew they would be onto your plan if you approached them at the same time. You needed to see this through multiple angles and that’s exactly what you did.

Neytiri, Neytiri, Neytiri. Your mind was consumed by her moans and gasps that you heard. You wanted those same moans uttered into your mouth and pussy and you wanted them etched into your memories. You were thinking of taking Jake first, but something about his all too sure attitude that he would have you made you want to challenge him. You wanted him to be practically begging to even get a taste of you. Of course you wanted him, he was confident and protective, and that mouth of his made you stir like crazy. But you wanted him to be on his knees in front of you practically begging for you. He will have to exercise the patience of a hunter.

Little did you know that they also had a plan in motion. After their declaration of love to one another and their desire for you, they had planned which way would be the best to get you. Since your mauri was at the edge of the beach towards the forest, they had decided to make that area their area to watch you from. They liked the fact that you were secluded with no mauri around for practically a mile. It would be the perfect area to take out their ikran’s to rest. You wouldn't become suspicious of them, is what they said to convince themselves. After all, their plan was backed by the fact that a few days earlier Tonowari himself suggested they rest their ikran’s there, extremely sure that you wouldn't mind.

But the fact is you had started planning this, perfectly if you did say so yourself the moment you had returned to your mauri. And you also had a few tricks up your sleeve in order to set things in motion. You had been out on the water with Tonowari and other fellow men from your clan along with Jake. You were there to help so Tonowari left you two alone in order to make sure Jake learned more efficiently.

Jake was on top of his skimwing, just watching the way his strong thighs clenched around his skimwing made you clench your own thighs together. It was the way that Jake gripped the reign of his skimwing that made you breathe in a little harder and made you flush with your imagination running wild as you imagined him gripping your braid as he took you from behind.

“Jake you're supposed to hold onto the reign not grip onto it. Your hand will tense up too quickly.”

“Oh come on y/n, you know my skimwing can take it.” You knew he was saying this on purpose so you did the next thing that popped into your mind. While he was distracted leaning down towards your face to look at you and flash you a smile you took the chance to slip your hand towards his butt. You started caressing the back of his thighs letting your hands roam his thigh and up his back. This made Jake's eyes blow wide and his breath falter momentarily.

And then you gripped his tail. And you gripped it hard.

“Can you take this Sully?” You asked with feigned innocence. You couldn't help but start moving your hand up and down around the base of his tail, imagining it was his cock.

“Answer me Sully, or do I have to go get Neytiri to get what I want?”

“I can take it. I can take anything you give me, girl.” He had to refrain himself from moaning trying to compose himself. He had to make you his prey, not the other way around. By this point he was practically leaning down so much his face was in your face. He could feel your hot breath fanning his face and he wanted more.

All you could do was beam him a seductive smile as you looked him deep in the eyes. Your hand hadn't stopped its movement of gripping and practically jerking off his tail as his free hand made its way to your own tail. Your desire becomes evident by the way that your tail started swishing excitedly under the water.

He gripped your tail so lightly it felt like more of a caress. He couldn't believe how quickly it seemed you would fall into his bait. He went from moving his hand from your tail towards the curve of your butt, and you went from gripping his tail to moving your hand towards the front of his loincloth. You were about to slip your hand under to grip his cock when all of a sudden…

“Jake Sully! Y/N! You must come back now.” Tonowari rudely yelled and interrupted as you both jumped apart from one another. Even though you tore yourselves from one another you kept the searing eye contact. You couldn't help but smirk at the way his eyes were wide from full of lust to alert at the sudden intrusion.

“I’m cumming Tonowari. You reminded me that I must go fulfill the rest of my duties for the day.” You bit your lip as you turned away from him and swam to the shore making sure to really emphasize the bend of your butt and the sway of your hips as you knew Jake would be watching. But before you fully left his view he saw you speak very quickly with Tonowari and then you finally left. Oh and how he was watching as you walked away. He gripped his skimwing with his left hand and his aching cock in his right hand as he let out frustrated pants.

You found yourself walking into the Sully’s mauri and beamed with a smile as you found Neytiri alone. You had to get a taste of her today no matter how small it may be. There was something about the way she walked and her very presence that drew you in. And you were about to bait her in.

“Neytiri! How happy I am to find you alone! I have brought you a gift.” You couldn't help but let the words slip out of your mouth as you saw her. Seeing her alone and bent over with a full view of her butt exposed to you made you stir inside. You make your way towards her and pull her in for a hug, not before slyly letting your hand graze the curve of her butt.

“Y/N I am glad you came, I have made you a gift.” She beams a smile so bright towards you as she pulls away from the hug slightly in order to stare straight into your eyes. You can't help but flicker your eyes from her eyes down to her lips. Staring at them takes you back to that night reminding you of the moans and gasps that came out of her. Neytiri takes this as a chance to caress your face lovingly but attentively in order not to scare you away.

“Come I will show you.” She said as she pulled you deeper into her mauri, away from the entrance to a more private area in the back. You decided to beat her to it and you pulled out the necklace you had made for her. It was a necklace made of beads and embroidered with yellow seashells you had specifically picked out because they reminded you of her golden eyes you adored so much.

“Oh y/n, I love it so much thank you.” She all but gushed out as she turned around and signaled for you to put it on her. You couldn't help but lean in and breathe in her scent as you adjusted it over her neck. Before you let you, you couldn't help but let your fingers linger on her neck for a moment, imagining what it would be like to kiss her neck.

She immediately went to a corner and there is where she pulled out from a small chest, a top she had made for you. Designed after the tops that the Omatikaya women wore. You couldn't help the gasp that escaped your lips. A gasp that Neytiri will have running through her mind nonstop from now on.

“Neytiri you shouldn't have! It’s so beautiful I love it!” You were so pleased you grabbed her face and pulled her in and kissed her. You couldn't help yourself, it was the first thing that came to mind, as if on instinct. For a moment after the brief kiss all you could do was stare at one another, for a moment the confidence you had started to waver slightly due to the look of shock on her face. That was until she pulled you back in.

The moment her hands were on your face and she pulled you in for another kiss you dropped the top onto the floor. Your hands flew to grip her hair in order to deepen the kiss. The kiss quickly became carnal, maybe even desperate as you two shoved each other's tongues into each other's mouth. You couldn't help but fight for dominance of the kiss. You dropped your hands to her waist and pulled her closer to you, chest to chest. Neytiri took this as a chance and shoved one of her knees in between your legs. This caused you to moan into the kiss, and the wetness dripping from you became apparent to Neytiri as the leg in between your legs started to get wet with your stickiness. The hammering of your heart and the moans coming from the both of you didn't let you realize you were practically dry humping each other. As Neytiri was about to drop one of her hands to slip underneath your loincloth to reach your cunt you pulled away.

“Oh my Eywa, I'm so sorry Neytiri!” You all but yell and then scampered out of her mauri, taking the gift she made you with you. All Neytiri could do was stand there in shock with the wetness in between her legs, a hand went up to her mouth. She couldn't contain the giggle that escaped and smile that erupted. She knew that as soon as she saw Jake she had to tell him.

Usually people don't come by your mauri, especially at night. You had made it clear from the moment you had declared it yours that no one was allowed to stop by unexpectedly. Even Ronal and Tonowari respect your wishes to have your privacy. That's why you knew that it was Jake and Neytiri that had dared to come into your area. You had heard the cries of their ikrans and put your plan into action. You ran to do exactly what you had planned as soon as you heard them descend and walk towards your area.

You had laid down on the middle of the floor, with your legs spread apart facing an opening of your mauri that resembled a window. You just knew for a fact that they would try and catch you by surprise so you decided to be the one to surprise them. You had discarded your loincloth but kept your top on deciding to not expose yourself fully to them, you wanted them to beg to see all of you. In one hand you had the top Neytiril had given you, and with your other hand you had lowered it down to your pussy. You could hear them right outside your mauri and sprung to action. You slowly but deliberately started to run your fingers up and down your slit, letting small moans start to escape your lips. As you did this you could hear them trying to sneak around your mauri and finally stop by the opening that gave them a full view of you pleasuring yourself. This spurred you on and you decided to continue.

You continued to rub your fingers on your slit, and then with two fingers you spread your lips apart and started rubbing your clit in small circles. While you rubbed your clit you couldn't help but bring the top Neytiri gifted you to your nose and you inhaled.

“Oh Neytiri.” You let yourself moan out loud. At this you heard a small gasp come from outside but you continued your activities. You dragged the top from your nose down to your cunt and started rubbing it all over, ensuring to get your juices on it. You let the top drop to the floor and this time with your legs spread, with one hand you continued rubbing circles on your clit and with the other you inserted two fingers inside your cunt as you started to thrust slowly.

“Oh ma Jake yesss.” You said as you fucked yourself imagining it was them. With this you quickened your fingers and started fucking yourself as you rubbed on your clit. You couldn't stop your legs from shaking as every time your fingers thrusted you rubbed the spongy part inside of you. You could feel your slick dripping out of your cunt as lewd noises started to come from your pussy. You let yout wonton moans continue to leave yout lips as you fucked yourself faster, so close to making yourself cum. The squelching sound of your pussy filling your home as you let all control go.

“Yes, yes, YES! I’M CUMMING.” You all but screamed out as you felt yourself cum around your fingers. You were in a dazed state as you felt your legs weaken, but you didn't stop. You turned over and laid on all fours, arching your back as you returned your fingers to your cunt. You moved your tail to the side giving them a full view of your ass and pussy exposed to them. You thrusted your fingers inside as you started fucking yourself again. As you did that you could hear light moans coming from outside.

Jake and Neytiri were crouching outside your mauri by your window watching as you pleasured yourself. By this point Neytiri was dripping as Jake thrusted his fingers inside of her in an attempt to ease her need.

“Ma Jake, I need you inside me.” She whispered as she tried to contain her moans. With this Jake got behind her on all fours and tore their loincloths off. He quickly rubbed his hard cock on her cunt, slipping it between her lips in order to smear it with her wetness so he could slip inside easier. With one swift movement he thrusted deep inside her and started hammering his hips into her ass, making his sack slap against her clit. This caused her to moan too loud for his liking so he shoved two fingers in Neytiri’s mouth in order to keep her quiet, to which she immediately started sucking spurring Jake on even more. Hammering away into her pussy he slipped one hand to her clit and started rubbing hard fast circles, encouraged by the moans slipping from your lips that were coming from inside your home as you you fucked yourself with your fingers.

“Jake please I am so close.” Neytiri all but begged Jake as he let his fingers slip from her mouth. With this Jake gripped onto Neytiri’s hips as he hammered away into her hips like an animal in heat. He could feel Neytiri’s pussy clenching him as his balls slapped against her clit, and then like a coil breaking, Neytiri came milking his greedy cock as she bit her hand in order to contain her moans. The clenching of her pussy caused Jake to come deep inside her, coating her walls with his cum, as he bit into Neytiri’s shoulder muffling his moans. He slowly stilled her but refused to pull out. They were panting as they looked up to watch you cumming yet again, this time with a full view of your pussy clenching around your fingers as you were on all fours.

By the third time you came around your fingers, you were exhausted. You slowly let yourself lay on the ground on your stomach as you tried to slow your breaths in order to listen to what was going on outside. You could hear the shallow panting from outside, as they tried to make their pants blend in with the sounds of the waves and wind. You laid there with your cum pooled in and around your pussy and your fingers coated. You slowly got up and went to your bed to get some sleep after being satisfied with yourself and your actions.You let yourself drift off to sleep but not before hearing them creep inside thinking you were asleep. You slightly cracked one eye open to see what they were doing in the dark and that's when you saw them. They were rubbing and sniffing your top that was coated with your cum, as if they were feral animals in heat. Neytiri lowly hissing at Jake and practically drags him to leave as he tries taking your top with them as they leave your home.

Let’s see who becomes my prey first is all you thought to yourself as you drifted off to sleep.

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵

WHOOP there you have it part two! I really wasn't planning on making this a miniseries, but after noticing how a majority of jake x neytiri x reader fics mainly focus on just jake and the reader, I wasn't having that. That’s why I decided to make this a five parter, I want my girl Neytiri to get some more action and not just to be there as a filler character. I want her to have feelings too and to be more included, like my girl is a part of this throuple not just a side character. She needs some love too!!! So there will most likely be three more parts, next chapter my girl is getting some ACTION y'all! I think I tagged everyone below who asked, but if I missed just lemme know. As always, I hope you enjoy and leave some feedback.

TOODLES <3

TAG LIST: @neteyamforlife @fanboyluvr @n1ght5h4d3-24 @itssomeonereading @myheartfollower @nyahhhsstuff

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cailins-posts · 27 days

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Love’s winning goal-Ethan Edward’s

Ethan Edwards x reader

Ethan Edwards, a standout defenseman for the University of Michigan's hockey team, found himself wrestling with a dilemma that had tugged at his heartstrings for far too long: his deep-seated feelings for his best friend and teammate, Y/N. Since their freshman year, they had been inseparable, sharing laughter, victories, and dreams. But as their bond grew stronger, so did Ethan's longing to confess his love for Y/N.Y/N, blissfully unaware of Ethan's inner turmoil, couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more between them. Her heart fluttered whenever Ethan was near, and the thought of losing his friendship kept her from voicing her true feelings.One chilly evening, as Ethan and Y/N sat side by side in the stands, watching their teammates practice on the ice below, Ethan's fellow Wolverines approached him with determined expressions."Ethan, we need to talk," one of them declared, pulling him aside.Ethan's curiosity piqued, he followed them, wondering what urgent matter they needed to discuss."It's about you and Y/N," another teammate began, nodding towards where Y/N sat, completely absorbed in the action on the ice.Ethan's heart raced at the mention of Y/N's name, his mind swirling with a whirlwind of emotions. "What about us?"His teammates exchanged knowing glances before one of them spoke up. "Listen, Ethan, it's clear as day that you're head over heels for Y/N. And we've seen the way she looks at you too. You two are meant to be together."Ethan's cheeks flushed with warmth, a mix of excitement and apprehension bubbling within him. "But what if she doesn't feel the same way? What if I ruin everything?"His teammates shook their heads, their expressions filled with unwavering confidence. "You won't know unless you try, Ethan. Love's worth the risk."Buoyed by his teammates' encouragement, Ethan made a vow: he would finally lay his heart bare to Y/N, no matter the outcome.Meanwhile, Y/N sat in her dorm room, her thoughts consumed by Ethan. She had long harbored a secret crush on him, but the fear of rejection had kept her from speaking up. Yet, as she reminisced about their shared moments, she couldn't help but wonder if Ethan felt the same way.Just as she was lost in thought, a soft knock sounded on her door, and her heart fluttered with anticipation as she opened it. Standing before her was Ethan, a nervous yet determined smile gracing his lips."Hey, Y/N, can we talk?" he asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability.Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she nodded, inviting Ethan inside. They settled onto the couch, a gentle tension filling the air."I, uh, I have something I need to tell you," Ethan began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been doing a lot of soul-searching lately, and...I think I'm in love with you, Y/N."Y/N's eyes widened with surprise, her heart soaring at Ethan's confession. "Ethan, I...I feel the same way."Before another word could be uttered, Ethan leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips in a tender, heartfelt kiss. It was a moment of pure magic, a culmination of years of unspoken affection and shared dreams.As they pulled away, breathless and smiling, Ethan felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He had finally laid bare his heart to Y/N, and she had welcomed his love with open arms. It was a moment he would treasure forever, the start of a beautiful love story.Little did they know, Ethan's parents had secretly harbored hopes of seeing their son and Y/N together. They had watched the bond between them grow over the years and had often whispered to each other about the possibility of them becoming more than just friends.As Ethan and Y/N's relationship blossomed, Ethan decided to take Y/N home for a weekend to meet his parents. Over dinner at their favorite restaurant, Ethan's teammates surprised them by showing up unannounced, raising their glasses in a toast to the happy couple.From that day forward, Ethan and Y/N navigated the uncharted waters of romance with laughter, passion, and unwavering support from their fellow Wolverines. And as they skated hand in hand onto the ice of life's greatest

#hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards #michigan hockey #michigan #mark estapa #luke hughes blurb #fanfic

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heian-era-housewife · 1 month

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Blind Date

Synopsis | Geto sets Gojo up on a blind date. Hilarity ensues.

Content | Mild cursing, mentions of sex, PG 13 at most.

Word Count | 1,002

Gojo lay back on one of Jujutsu High's frumpy, moth-eaten dorm chairs. Long legs stretched out in front of him, arms draped carelessly over the sides with palms facing up, head lolled back and mouth slightly open. A sigh of utter boredom gurgled deep in his throat as he stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

Classes were on a break. Students were visiting families or using the time to study and train independently. He had not been called on a mission in three whole days.

Suddenly the door to the teachers' dormitory slid open with flare as Geto strut into the room.

"You can thank me now!" He declared with a pompous smile.

"For what?" Gojo said without moving an inch, eyes still fixed on the ceiling through his blindfold.

"I've set you up on a date tonight," replied Geto with an overwhelming smugness.

"IS SHE HOT?!" Gojo snapped to attention, bolt upright, eager hands gripping his knees in excitement.

"Guess you'll have to see for yourself. Six o'clock. The sushi place in Ginza. Don't be late," Geto said with a wink and a note of suspicious mocking.

*********************************************

5:55 p.m. - Gojo waited anxiously outside the restaurant, unable to decide how far down he should unzip his jacket. He had spent the afternoon showering, shaving, and changing outfits and glasses again and again before settling back on his original black jacket, black pants, and classic blindfold. His boxers he'd been sure to change though, just in case.

***

"Show me what she looks like!" He had whined at Geto over and over. "What's her name? Where'd you meet her? What did you tell her about me?" He pried.

Geto refused to budge. "You'll find out soon enough," he chided at Gojo's pleading questions.

"How will I know who to look for if you won't tell me?" He pouted.

"Oh don't worry," teased Geto. "She'll find you."

***

Awaiting his prize, Gojo looked around again, still fidgeting with his zipper. A soft sudden tap on his arm followed by a sweet, feminine voice caused him to jump slightly as he turned to see the girl Geto had selected.

She was cute, wearing a simple, but flattering dress with just enough skin to pique his interest without drawing too much attention from other wandering eyes. He made a mental note to praise Geto later for his taste in women.

"Sorry to startle you! You must be Gojo!" She said with a soft smile while she introduced herself.

"Please, call me Satoru," Gojo instisted, offering a long-fingered hand to guide her through the doorway of the sushi house.

Rather than take it, she wrapped herself around his arm and began walking confidently into the restaurant, almost pulling him along with her.

Oh! Gojo thought to himself. I am definitely okay with this.

As they settled in the booth, exchanging small talk, Gojo's confidence grew as his date's rather forward behavior continued. Admitedly, a bit surprised, he couldn't help but sit back sporting a goofy smile as she insisted on feeding him, pouring his drinks, guiding his hands around the table, and even praising him on the way he "intuitively" used his chopsticks on the rare occasions she allowed him to feed himself.

Okay, so that last one was kind of weird. But who cares? He thought. I am definitely getting laid tonight.

While the chatter continued, he didn’t delve much into his personal life. Nor did they talk much about hers. She mostly just peppered him with compliments and he attempted to do the same.

Still, he couldn't help feel that something was slightly off as her accolades dipped into the increasingly peculiar.

"Geto told me all about your noble work."

"Oh? Did he now?"

"Your students must love you!"

"Well, I'd like to think so."

"Your hearing must be impeccable."

"Uhh...sure? I guess...?"

When the check arrived, Gojo reached out instinctively to take it, surprised when his hand met hers, also reaching for the bill.

"Oops...sorr-"

"Amazing!" She exclaimed, causing Gojo to retract his hand in startled confusion. "You knew exactly where it was!" She cried, looking up at him in awe.

"I-" Gojo stammmered, working hard to make sense of what she was implying.

With a sudden flush of her cheeks, she gushed, "I hope you don't mind me saying, but if Geto hadn't told me, I would have never known you were blind!"

*********************************************

The dormitory door slammed open, then shut with a dangerous shutter as Gojo stormed inside.

"You. Utter. ASSWIPE!" Gojo shouted into the darkened dorm.

"How was your blind date?" Geto called from a safe distance.

"Hah. FREAKING. HAH! You waited in here all damn night just to say that, didn’t you?!" He growled.

Geto wheezed, doubled over in laughter as he relished the deranged look in Gojo's glowing eyes.

"Oh you think you're so hilarious. You're lucky I don't hollow purple the living shit out of you! Did you REALLY tell her this was a school for the blind?!"

Geto gasped for air, hugging the wall and pounding it with his fist as he reveled in his childish prank.

"Well joke's on YOU buddy! While you were waiting here yuckin' it up to yourself all night, I was getting mad laid at her place. Turns out chicks dig the visually impaired!"

Geto wiped a tear from his eye as he straightened up and looked Gojo dead in his dangerous blue gaze. "You suck at lying. She called a cab and you walked here cursing my name with every step. Don't deny it," He taunted.

"I-"

"Hmm?"

"I mean I-"

"Hmmmmm?"

"Screw you! At least I got a hot chick to feed me sushi."

Geto burst back into raucus laughter as his friend skulked down the hall.

"I'm going to bed," Gojo huffed.

"Need me to walk you there?" Geto called after him.

I'll get him back for that one, Gojo scowled as he threw himself down on his lamentably empty bed. One thing's for sure, though. No more blind dates.

#Blind & VI please don't hate me #Half Blind #🫣#Congenital Eye Disease #yuri worries #jjk #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk geto #suguru geto #gojo eyes

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zeciex · 1 month

Text

A Vow of Blood - 78

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 78: A Boy And His Dragon

AO3 - Masterlist

The gentle evening breeze, carrying the briny scent of the sea, caressed Luke’s face as he made his way down the stone steps to the landing that overlooked the vast ocean. He found his mother, regally poised on the landing, her eyes lost in the distant waters, illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun. As he reached the landing, she turned towards him, her expression softening as she regarded her sons with a gentle smile on her lips. Jace came to stand at his side, shoulder to shoulder, as they both looked upon their mother expectantly.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men. The Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms, we must answer to their gods,” She declared, her voice imbued with a sense of wisdom that made Luke admire his mother. A wave of determination swept through him, bolstering his stance as the evening breeze teased through his hair.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were steadfast as she addressed them further, her regal tone tinged with a mother’s care. “If you take this errand, you go as messengers, not as warriors.”

Luke’s gaze shifted to his brother, their eyes locking in a brief, silent exchange. It was a moment of seeking reassurance, to determine if his brother felt the same nerves that twisted in his own stomach. But his brother’s expression held no trace of anxiety; instead, it was marked by a confidence that Luke deeply envied and strived to emulate. He attempted to mirror the same confidence, drawing on his brother’s apparent calm to steady his own nerves.

“You must take no part in any fighting,” Rhaenyra continued, emphasizing each word with grave importance. “Swear it to me now under the eyes of the Seven.”

At her beckoning, Ser Lorent Marbrand, his white cloak fluttering dramatically in the wind, stepped forward. He held out the Seven-Pointed Star, its leather binding worn but regal, embossed with the visages of the Seven and adorned with inscriptions that caught the fading light and shimmered with a rich, golden hue.

Luke stepped forward, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, a tempest of anxiety and anticipation churning within him. He fully understood the significance of his mother’s directive and the rationale behind her insistence on a diplomatic approach. Envoys were safe, none would dare break convention and have their honor tarnished–and for that Luke was grateful. He had no desire to fight; he acknowledged that combat was not his strength. What he could do was carry his mother’s message and represent her.

With this understanding, Luke placed his hand upon the book of the Seven, his gaze firmly meeting his mother’s. “I swear it.”

Jace, more measured in his movements but equally committed, leaned forward and placed his hand atop the book, his eyes locking with his mother’s in a steady and resolute manner. “I swear it.”

Rhaenyra nodded in acknowledgement, her expression softening as she uttered a quiet ‘Thank you’ to Ser Lorent, who then withdrew. The book’s leather brushed against Luke’s palm, leaving behind a tingling sensation that imbued him with a deep sense of responsibility and promise. He briefly wondered if the gods were looking upon them now.

Rhaenyra shifted her focus to Jace, her fingers delicately handling the rolled parchment as she spoke. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than to mine. I would hope that, as men, you can find some common interest.”

She extended her hand, holding out one of the missives to her eldest son. As he accepted the parchment, he gave his mother a respectful nod, acknowledging the weight of the responsibility being placed upon him, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Her gaze then moved to Luke, tender and warm. The corners of her mouth curled into an amused, maternal smile that brought him comfort, yet somehow deepened his anxiety. Desperate to demonstrate his courage and earn her pride, Luke stepped closer, his posture reflecting a tentative yet determined bravery.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here…”

Luke’s gaze followed his mother’s as she looked out towards the sea, her voice soft and contemplative. The waves caressed the shores beneath them in a tranquil dance, while the clouds above were bathed in gentle hues of violet, pink and gold. His attention returned to his mother as she began to speak again.

“You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys,” she reminded him gently, her eyes softer than what Luke could bear.

He couldn’t suppress the downward glance, feeling the weight of the knowledge that this connection was not one of blood but of name. Despite the settled succession of Driftmark, the truth that he did not carry his father’s or grandmother’s blood weighed heavily on his heart–a burden which he couldn’t seem to relieve himself of. Yet, he stood as the heir to Driftmark, proudly bearing the Velaryon name and betrothed to Rhaena whose blood was indisputable. He was determined to prove himself worthy of it–of name, title and marriage.

Rhaenyra continued, her voice infused with a note of reassurance, “And remember, your sister was wed to his brother. Though Daenera’s marriage was brief, her commitment to Lord Borros remains. I am confident he’ll remember this.”

Luke swallowed, acknowledging her words with a nod.

“Lord Borros is an eternally proud man,” Rhaenyra assured him. “He’ll be honored to host a prince of the realm and his dragon.”

As she placed the message firmly into his hand, she added with a meaningful look, “I expect you will receive a very warm welcome.”

“Yes, Mother–Your Grace,” Luke stumbled over his words.

Rhaenyra released a soft, amused breath, her hand affectionately patting his shoulder before gliding up and down his arm in a comforting gesture. The warmth of her touch eased some of Luke’s tension, blending nervousness with resolve. Taking a few steps back, he then turned once more to face his mother, ready to take on the task assigned to him–wishing to make her proud.

“Go to it then,” Rhaenyra encouraged, her voice a blend of maternal pride and regal command. Her words fortified Luke, filling him with a sense of purpose as he prepared to depart.

Luke followed closely behind Jace as they made their way down the pathway leading to the beach. Their footsteps scraped over the old, algae-slickened steps, still damp from recent rain, while the encroaching sands nestled against the stoic stone walls that lined their path.

Jace, always a few strides ahead, offered his advice over his shoulder. “Take the route over Sharp Point, then follow the coast past the Straits of Tarth, through Shipbreaker Bay. Try to avoid flying over land excessively. If word of your meeting with the Baratheons spreads too swiftly to the usurpers, it could complicate matters.”

Grappling with the weight of uncertainty, Luke voiced his concern. “What if they’ve already dispatched their own envoy?”

He was reluctant to burden their mother with these doubts, fearing it might lead her to reconsider sending him as an envoy. He wanted to prove himself useful, to contribute to their cause, and perhaps, with the Baratheons’ support, they could secure Daenera’s return.

Jace responded with a nonchalant shrug, his confidence unwavering. “It doesn’t matter. As a prince bearing the Queen’s message, your presence alone outshines any envoy they might send.”

Luke, still harboring doubts but keeping them to himself, trudged alongside Jace towards the shore where the sea softly lapped against the sand. The waters surrounding Dragonstone usually churned in a furious tempest, as if the sea itself were battling against the jagged rocks of the shore. Yet, today, the ocean appeared almost tentative.

As they approached, Vermax raised his head, emitting a lively hum that roused Arrax to join the chorus, their excitement for the impending flight palpable in the air.

Above them, Rhaenys sat astride the formidable Meleys’s, striking an imposing figure. Her attire, a blend of riding leathers stitched with crimson and steel, seemed almost an extension of Meleys’s gleaming scales. Her silver hair danced in the wind seeming to almost glow in the golden light.

Jace paused and turned to face Luke, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do great, Luke. Remember who you are: Lucerys Velaryon, Heir of Driftmark, future Lord of the Tides, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Luke managed a nod, feeling a knot of emotion tighten in his throat as a torrent of anticipation and anxiety flooded him. His heart thrummed against his chest, a wild, relentless beat. Jace drew closer, his hand sliding from Luke’s shoulder to the back of his head, gently bringing their foreheads together.

“Their thoughts and opinions are inconsequential,” Jace affirmed. “You are Lucerys Velaryon. We are Targaryens, bonded with dragons. That is our strength, and nothing they can ever say will take that from us.”

Luke returned his brother’s nod, a surge of newfound confidence bolstering his resolve. With a few more reassuring pats on his head from Jace, the moment ended, and they each climbed onto their respective dragons.

Beneath Luke, Arrax shifted restlessly, his movements betraying a blend of excitement and nervous energy–as though the dragon sensed his rider's apprehension. As Luke settled into the familiar saddle, the well-worn leather greeted him like an old friend. Each groove and dent held memories of their adventures together. He vividly recalled an incident from his first ride: the bite mark left when his young legs had stubbornly refused to dismount, and the subsequent misstep that had sent him tumbling into the sand, drawing laughter from his siblings. The fall had ended with his face pressed hard against the saddle, leaving an impression of his front teeth in the leather–a detail that even coaxed a stifled chuckle from their mother, while Daemon had turned away, struggling to conceal his own amusement.

Secured in the saddle now, Luke leaned forward, his hand gripping the handles tightly. He cast a glance at Jace, who radiated a fierce concentration, and then at Rhaenys, her expression echoing the same intense resolve. Instinctively, Luke attempted to emulate their expression, his face hardening with concentration.

Vermax took to the sky with a powerful thrust of his wings, quickly followed by Meleys, who soared into the air with a majestic grace.

“Sōvegon, Arraks,” Luke called out firmly. Fly, Arrax!

Obediently, the dragon shuffled across the sand, gathering momentum before unfurling its massive wings to catch the breeze. They ascended rapidly from the beach, the wind whistling past Luke’s ears, whipping his hair into his face. The brisk air nibbed at his cheeks, hinting at a rosy flush that would likely graze his face upon their return.

The three of them–Rhaenys astride Meleys, Jace mounted on Vermax, and Luke on the spirited Arrax–circled Dragonstone before veering toward the mainland. Below Luke, the vast sea stretched endlessly, its surface shimmering with the last golden rays of the setting sun. Guiding Arrax with confident strokes, Luke parted from the others and steered towards Sharp Point.

Luke allowed his gaze to linger on Dragonstone, its formidable silhouette serving as a comforting anchor, its steadfast presence silently promising to await his return. Redirecting his attention forward, he urged Arrax to climb higher, soaring close enough to skim the cloud formations that draped across the sky like a delicate veil.

As dusk faded into night, Luke and Arrax reached Sharp Point, their path winding along the coast past Stonedance and Massey’s Hook. Above them, the sky was a canvas of heavy clouds with glimpses of the stars twinkling in the vast expanse beyond. Gliding beneath this clouded ceiling, Luke took in the sights below–the small cities and keeps, their lights flickering like tiny embers scattered across the dark landscape.

Deep into the night, as they neared the Straits of Tarth, a formidable storm loomed ominously ahead. Foreboding clouds, dense and towering like ancient columns, darkened the sky. Luke steered Arrax along the coastline of Shipbreaker Bay, where the clouds above thickened and sank, almost brushing the turbulent sea below, a precursor of the storm’s intensity. The sea itself churned violently, its waves crashing against the shore with a force that rivaled the thunder echoing in the distance.

The wind, growing fiercer by the moment, carried the raw energy of the impending storm, swirling and howling around him with tangible ferocity. It tugged relentlessly at Luke’s clothing and hair, its icy tendrils piercing through the fabric, chilling him to the bone. But despite the storm’s wrath, Luke held firm, his resolve unwavering as they pushed forward, guided by the dim, tenuous light of the small villages along the coastline.

As the early morning hours drew near, the imposing silhouette of Storm’s End began to emerge on the horizon. Perched atop rugged cliffs, its massive round tower, crowned with a domed roof, stood resolutely against the harsh elements. Lightning streaked across the sky, heralding the approaching storm, and with each flash, the tower’s stony facade was momentarily illuminated, casting a spectral glow around its slick stone.

Luke guided Arrax around the towering structure of Storm’s End, skillfully descending into the expansive courtyard below. Encircled by the fortress’s massive curtain walls, they landed with a definitive thud, the gravel scattering slightly beneath Arrax’s considerable weight. The dragon released a deep, resonant hum, echoing a warning that seemed to linger in the air as the dragon stared at the guards stationed outside the tall doors. Under the intermittent flashes of lightning, their armor caught the light, gleaming briefly as they stood immovable, spears in hand, as steadfast as the walls they were sworn to protect.

Leaning back in the saddle, Luke ran a hand through his tousled dark curls, which the wind had whipped into a disarray. His ears still rang with the thunderous booms that cracked across the sky, echoes of the storm lingering even now that he had landed. The cold wind heightened the burning sensation in his cheeks, contrasting sharply with the residual warmth of his exertion. Struggling to catch his breath, he unhooked the tether connected to his belt and cautiously swung his leg over the saddle, dismounting with an air of fatigue.

As his boots hit the gravel, the crunch underfoot echoed his sense of weariness; his leg muscles ached from the long flight and had become stiff from the position had had upheld in the saddle. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, Luke moved towards the guards. As he walked, his hand brushed gently against Arrax’s neck in a comforting gesture, calming the visibly anxious dragon–as though it sensed something he didn’t.

Halfway to the guards, the air was abruptly filled with a deep, resonant hum that sent shivers down Luke’s spine and caused the hairs at the nape of his neck to stand on end. A sinking feeling gripped his heart as he swiftly turned towards the source of the sound. There, just beyond the curtain wall, loomed the horrible silhouette of Vhagar–a living mountain that stretched above the high curtain wall, briefly illuminated by the lightning.

Vhagar issued a thunderous roar, her massive head shaking as she cast an imposing glance towards Arrax. What struck Luke with an even greater sense of foreboding was the sight of the dragon’s empty saddle.

A wave of dread washed over Luke, tightening its grip around him. The impulse to flee, to turn back to Dragonstone with the message undelivered, surged within him. Yet, he resisted the urge. He couldn’t–and wouldn’t–disappoint his mother. He refused to shirk the responsibility she had entrusted to him. It was his duty as her envoy to deliver the message, and hopefully, secure a response.

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” he announced firmly with a steadiness that belied his apprehension. “I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards, trained to precision, nodded in unison and turned as one–a display of synchronicity that, under different circumstances, might have amused Luke. Perhaps he would even imagine them rehearsing the movement. But in the solemnity of the moment, such lighthearted thoughts were far from his mind.

And with a heavy heart, he followed them into the tower.

Behind him, the deep, thunderous rumble of Vhagar resonated through the air. Luke cast a fleeting, anxious glance over his shoulder, feeling his heart race and the knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach. He clenched his teeth, striving to mask the unease that gripped him as he knew Jace would.

The guards led him through the towering doors and along a curved corridor. The massage was only sporadically illuminated by the flickering torches that cast dancing shadows against the bare stone walls, bringing a flickering sense of light to the otherwise dark passage. The build, though reminiscent of Dragonstone, exuded a colder and more ominous air. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the stone, punctuated by the soft rustling of cloaks and the occasional clank of armor.

Turning deeper into the heart of the tower, they passed through a curved archway into the great hall of Strom’s End. The hall itself, shaped like an elongated circle, featured multiple arches branching off into other corridors. There were no corners for the shadows to haunt, yet somehow, the shadows seemed to haunt the space all the same. At the far end of the room, seated on the stone throne of House Baratheon, was Lord Borros. To his left, his family and various nobles from the Stormlands stood, each face as stoic and hard as the stone beneath their feet. Lord Borros himself cut an imposing figure as his stormy eyes followed Luke.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” one of the guards announced, his voice booming through the silent hall. “Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

A sudden movement caught Luke’s attention–a flash of silver hair against the dark leather as Aemond turned to face him, a smug smile playing on his lips. Despite expecting this encounter, given that Vhagar was here, Luke still felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

Aemond wore a self-satisfied smirk, his gaze leisurely rising to meet Luke’s, eyeing him with a look of grim enjoyment. His hands were nonchalantly clasped behind his back, and the sword at his hip, though partially hidden by his coat, was unmistakable, its length only rivaled by the intimidating scar that marred his face and the void beneath his eyepatch. His one visible eye, sharp and penetrating, matched the lethal intent of the steel he bore at his side.

Luke’s heart faltered further, a wave of dread sweeping through him as an icy chill traced its way down his spine, and he shifted uneasily on his feet.

The impending storm seemed to finally have reached shore, the howling wind outside seeming to resonate within the Round Hall, its thunder and lightning echoing ominously in the tense silence.

Under the weight of the room’s scrutinizing eyes, Luke forced himself to focus on Lord Borros. The lord sat enthroned with an undeniable air of authority, his expression as impenetrable as the stone beneath him. His frown was deeply etched, his heavy brows furrowed in a scrutinizing glare that seemed to pierce through Luke. He paused to gather himself, steeling his nerves before he could speak.

“Lord Borros–” Luke began, only to be cut off by the crack of thunder that reverberated throughout the room. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the hall, casting fleeting shadows across Lord Borros’s stern face,which seemed to harden his features further, as if he were on the cusp of a furious outburst.

Luke swallowed, steadying his voice before attempting to speak again, “I have brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”

“Yet, earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King,” Lord Borros retorted with a dry tone, his words slicing through the tense air. “Which is it to be? King or Queen?”

Luke couldn’t ignore the widening smirk of smug satisfaction on Aemond’s face, evidently pleased at having arrived first. He felt the weight of Aemond’s gaze, intense and almost invasive. It only served to heighten his discomfort, unease prickling beneath his skin.

“The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it,” Lord Borros concluded, his laughter harsh and mocking, resonating through the chamber with a tone that was anything but humorous. The words hung heavily in the air, laden with tension as Luke struggled to maintain his confidence in the face of this less than welcoming reception.

Confronted with a reality far removed from what his mother had anticipated for him, Luke steeled himself to carry out his duty. He was here to deliver his mother’s message to Lord Borros, after which he would return home.

Lord Borros, impatient and brusque, demanded, “What is your mother’s message?”

Luke handed the rolled parchment to one of the guards. He felt the light weight of the scroll leave his hand, watching as it was pressed into Lord Borros’ expectant hand. The lord’s face was etched with irritation as he accepted the letter, his demeanor radiating exasperation as he shifted in his seat, drawing in a breath.

With a huff, Lord Borros grumbled, “Where’s the bloody maester?”

At his command, one of the nobles swiftly turned and exited the Round Hall, through one of the many archways, in search for the maester. In the tense silence that followed, only the crack of thunder filled the air, the flashes of lightning briefly illuminating the oppressive atmosphere.

Luke tried to avert his gaze, but it was drawn back to Aemond nevertheless. The malevolence burning within his eye was almost tangible, his smirk sinister. The intensity of his gaze felt almost physically invasive, as if burrowing beneath Luke’s skin, itching along the sensitive parts of his body. There was a sense of eagerness in the intensity, as though he itched for confrontation.

Determined not to be cowed, Luke met Aemond’s gaze directly, refusing to show any sign of intimidation. Despite the palpable tension, he stood his ground, maintaining a composed exterior against the clear animosity emanating from Aemond. Yet, he couldn’t help but instinctively find the hilt of his sword, seeking it as a form of reassurance.

The maester, promptly responding to the summons, hastened to Lord Borros’s side–the light chiming of his chains announcing his arrival. The old master carefully took the parchment from his lord, breaking the seal and unfolding it to read the contents.

Luke held his position, his gaze locked with Aemond’s in a silent battle of wills. Even with his heart pounding wildly within his chest, he managed to maintain some semblance of confidence–an attempt to emulate his brother once more. Jace wouldn’t cower, and neither would he. With some amount of determination, he tore his eye away from Aemond, dismissing him, and instead turned his attention to Lord Borros, who shifted on the throne, awaiting the maester’s interpretation of the message.

Leaning closer, the maester whispered the contents of the letter into Lord Borros’s ear. Luke watches as Lord Borros’s eyebrows drew together, his face contorting into a scowl as his cheeks grew red with growing fury.

“‘Remind’ me of my father’s oath,” Lord Borros repeated bitterly, his voice dripping with scorn. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact.”

Feeling the weight of Lord Borros’s ire, Luke cleared his throat and spoke, his gaze firmly fixed on him, even as he sensed Aemond’s smug grin grow wider. “My mother, the Queen, hopes that our houses’ marriage alliance remains intact. My sister–”

“‘Hope?!’ ‘Hope?!’” Lord Borros interrupted, his voice rising in indignation. “The alliance between our houses died along with my brother, and unless your sister is with child, I see no reason that the alliance should continue. I cannot stake the future of my house on mere ‘hope.’”

A sudden spike of dread shot through Luke’s chest in response to Lord Borros’s mounting anger. Instinctively, he gritted his teeth and gripped his sword tighter, finding a measure of comfort in the familiar feel of the hilt beneath his fingers, even as he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight against Aemond. Nevertheless, it soothed his nerves to know that it was there, and that he was armed.

Lord Borros continued, “Your sister, commendable as she might have been, pledged to remain a widow to sustain this tedious alliance.” He paused, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “However, I’ve come to understand that she has reneged on her word by accepting a betrothal to Prince Aemond here.”

Luke’s gaze drew sharply back to Aemond, who seemed to savor the moment with a tilt of his head and an amused smirk twisting the corners of his lips. He swallowed, feeling anger churn in his stomach at the thought of his sister marrying someone like Aemond. Forcing himself to refocus on Lord Borros, Luke countered, “My sister is held as a hostage in King’s Landing. Any decision to marry would not be her own.”

“I assure you, Lord Strong,” Aemond interjected smoothly, his voice dripping with sardonic amusement–seeming to revel in the way Luke’s hackles came up. “The decision was entirely voluntary. Perhaps if your mother cedes her ambition for the throne, you’ll be able to attend the wedding and see for yourself how willing your sister truly is.”

Luke’s glare at Aemond was fierce, and turned fiercer still, as he retorted sharply, “Or perhaps, Prince Aemond, you confuse coercion for consent as easily as you confuse treachery for honor. It seems the only way you can secure a bride is by trapping her in circumstances she cannot escape from. My sister would never willingly marry you.”

The short silence that ensued was more deafening than the thunder cracking outside, so close it seemed to reverberate through the air, as if the storm itself had infiltrated the hall. It was a dangerous quiet, made even more menacing by the way Aemond’s glare hardened, sharpening like the point of a knife.

“Be that as it may, House Baratheon has honored its commitment to your sister and your house. That alliance now rests alongside my brother,” Lord Borros interjected, cutting through the tension with a voice that commanded silence throughout the room. His gaze was fixed sharply on Luke as he asked pointedly, “If you seek a new alliance, then tell me, which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Caught off guard, Luke responded firmly, maintaining his resolve, “My lord, I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed.”

“So you come here with empty hands,” Lord Borros shot back, his words laden with condescension. He exhaled sharply, before continuing with a dismissive tone. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Despite the sting of dismissal, Luke carried himself with dignity, straightening his back and lifting his head with a resilience that belied his disappointment and with a measured tone he answered, “I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.”

With a sharp pivot, Luke turned decisively, his movements measured as he made to leave. The sound of shifting feet echoed behind him, accompanied by the soft rustle of garments brushing against stone. Then, a voice pierced the tense atmosphere, dripping with a thinly veiled insult, “You should feel fortunate, sweet sister, to wed a prince with all his appendages. Spare a thought for the princess…”

Luke didn’t break his stride, pressing forward as the palpable tension hung in the air, thickening with each step he took towards the archway. His progress, however, was abruptly arrested by a voice that rooted him to the spot.

“Wait,” Aemond commanded, his tone carrying an air of authority that halted Luke in his tracks. Then, with a taunting drawl, he continued, “My Lord Strong.”

Dread crept like icy tendrils up Luke’s spine, wrapping around his heart and dragging it down into the depths of his stomach. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled, urging him to flee, to mount Arrax and fly back to the familiar safety of home. He swallowed, drawing in a steadying breath before turning to face Aemond once more.

He retraced his steps back to his previous position, flanked by vigilant guards, his fingers tightly gripping the hilt of his sword. His heart hammered against his ribs, a tumultuous mix of dread and unease clawing at his insides. Despite the growing knot of apprehension in his stomach, he maintained his composure, drawing his strength from his brother’s words – he was Lucerys Velaryon, son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and Laenor Velaryon of House Velaryon. He was the heir of Driftmark and the future Lord of the Tides. He was a prince and a dragonrider.

His brother would not show fear, would not cower, nor would his sister, and neither would he.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” Aemond’s inquiry cut through the air as he advanced towards Luke. Despite the casual position of his hands behind his back, his presence remained distinctly menacing.

“I will not fight you,” Luke asserted firmly, his voice resolute as it carried across the tense atmosphere. He remained steadfast in his wish to adhere to his mother’s directive, to fulfill the role entrusted to him as an envoy, and as only that. He was not here to fight, but to deliver a message–which he had now fulfilled. “I came as a messenger, not as a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” Aemond’s response was eerily composed, devoid of any trace of humor. “No, I want you to put out your eye…”

As he spoke, Aemond swiftly removed his eyepatch, revealing the grim aftermath of their past encounter. The brutality of the scar was unveiled–a line that slashed from his forehead down through his brow and plunging further, cutting through the eye socket, tracing a jagged path down to end well below his cheekbone. The skin surrounding his eye bore the cruel twist of healed wounds, appearing taut and contorted, as if it constantly pulled. At the inner corner, the flesh appeared to have been stitched together, the healed tissue remaining a raw red against the pallor of his skin. And embedded within the scar tissue–within the hollow of his eye socket–a sapphire gleamed cruelly.

As lightning flashed, it illuminated the deep facets of the sapphire, casting deep shadows that danced like malevolent spirits within its depths–something twisted and cruel, biding its time before striking.

Confronted with the tangible evidence of the damage he had inflicted, Luke felt a wave of apprehension surge through him–mingled with the distinct twist of guilt and remorse in his gut. His gaze lingered on the disfigurement, meeting the frigid, malevolent stare of the sapphire. His heart pounded fiercely within his chest, each beat echoing the intensity of his emotions–and the overwhelming sense of dread that clung to him.

“One will serve,” Aemond drawled, his voice cold and devoid of empathy. “I would not blind you.”

His fingers closed tightly around the hilt of his dagger, drawing it from its sheath with a deliberate, almost ritualistic slowness. With a flick of his wrist, he released the weapon, its metallic clatter against the stone floor reverberating like a portent of doom, each echo a resounding strike to Luke’s core.

Frozen by the implication of Aemond’s demand, Luke felt his heart pound against his ribs, each beat a frantic rhythm of apprehension. He struggled to maintain even breaths as his eyes lifted from the dagger on the floor back to Aemond.

“Mm, I plan to make a gift of it to my mother,” Aemond drawled with cruel amusement.

Faced with such absurd and cruel demand, Luke grappled with the horrifying notion–the idea of complying, of actually picking up the dagger to gouge out his own eye, flickered through his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. But he quickly dismissed it. He couldn’t–he wouldn’t resort to such violence, not even against himself.

Recollections of Jace’s unwavering support, his adamant defense that Luke bore no blame, flooded his mind. He recalled his sister's words too, urging him to never apologize for protecting his brother. His actions had been purely in defense of Jace; he hadn’t intended to cause such grievous harm. He had been driven by fear and the instinct to protect his brother from Aemond’s lethal intent.

But Aemond had attacked them as well–he had broken Luke’s nose and split Daenera’s lip, shoved Rhaena, struck Baela, and hurled insults at them, calling them bastards. He had hit Jace with a rock, and he had raised it again, poised to deliver another vicious blow to Jace’s skull.

Luke had defended his brother.

He never intended to damage Aemond as he had.

He had only meant to get him to stop.

Luke would always defend his family–and he would not apologize for that.

With his head held high, Luke met Aemond’s eye with defiance. “No.”

The smirk that had previously danced in Aemond’s eye, the cruel glee that had sparked in his sapphire, suddenly turned as cold and unforgiving as the steel blade that rested at Luke’s feet. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

Luke’s jaw clenched tightly at the insult. “I will not surrender my eye to you. I owe you nothing. I–”

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” Aemond demanded, his approach deliberate and charged with fury, each step resonating with the weight of his anger. As he moved, his face contorted into a deep, venomous sneer that twisted his features grotesquely. The air around him seemed to thrum with tension, as palpable as the storm outside. The metallic scrape of the dagger being lifted from the stone was a sinister sound, echoing ominously in the vast hall. As he grasped the weapon, the light from a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the blade, casting sharp, dancing shadows that flickered across his hardened expression, emphasizing the lethal intent in his eye.

Reacting instinctively, Luke stumbled backwards, his boots scraping against the smooth stone as he defensively drew his sword, even though he struggled with the weight of it. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, the rapid beats reverberating through his veins, his muscles tight with tension and fatigue. A quivering breath escaped him as Aemond advanced, prowling towards him with the intent of drawing blood.

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros thundered from his throne, his authoritative voice echoing through the chamber. He was now standing, furiously scowling at the scene before him.

Aemond halted abruptly, the dagger still poised in his hand, as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows that accentuated the bloodlust in his gaze. His eye, paired chillingly with the sapphire, conveyed a monstrous thirst for blood–a fervent desire for Luke’s suffering and blood.

Would extracting Luke’s eye satisfy him, or would it merely whet his appetite for more cruelty?

“The boy came as an envoy,” Lord Borros declared, asserting his command over the situation and emphasizing the sanctity of convention. Envoys and messengers were protected by guest rights and the laws of hospitality, principles that should have been sufficient to deter Aemond from seeking retribution in the form of blood. “I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon–now.”

The authoritative command from Lord Borros reverberated through the hall, slicing through the palpable tension like a blade, punctuating the gravity of the situation, and enforcing a semblance of order amidst the rising chaos.

Luke cautiously retreated a few steps, warily sheathing his sword while keeping his eyes fixed on Aemond–unsure whether he’d be restrained by a simple command. With the tension hanging ominously in the silence, Luke began to move towards the hall, more than ready to leave the confrontation. Just as he reached the threshold, a surge of unresolved tension gripped him. He paused, his instincts compelling him to turn back. He turned to face Aemond once more, finding him with his dagger now sheathed.

“I am sorry that it has come to this…” Luke addressed him, his voice carrying a sincerity that belied the tension in the room. He felt the weight of his sister’s words as he spoke. “I regret that my actions resulted in the loss of your eye but I will not apologize for protecting my brother.”

Aemond’s expression turned cold and sharp, as menacing as the sheathed steel at his hip. His look of disdain intensified, ablaze with unbridled fury and deep-seated hatred. His eye narrowed into a piercing stare, burning with a resentment that was raw and all-consuming, seeking to spread like wildfire.

“I hope for your understanding, and perhaps forgiveness one day, but until then, you have my apology for the suffering caused by my hand,” Luke said, his voice steady as he maintained a fragile composure despite the darkness looming in Aemond’s expression–a darkness that seemed to coil and sneer within the depths of his sapphire eye. This intense, foreboding look from Aemond filled him with utter dread.

Luke couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different had he possessed his brother’s unwavering confidence or his sister’s defiance. Perhaps, with his mother’s courage or Daemon’s fearless nature, he might have confronted Aemond with greater tenacity and stood his ground longer. However, actuality was different; dread had its icy grip firmly around his heart. Realizing there were no more words to exchange, no further arguments or apologies left to offer, he accepted the truth of his limitations.

With this, Luke turned on his heels, his steps quickening as he made his way back through the echoing corridors. He stepped into the tempest that raged around Storm’s End, its relentless ferocity mirroring the intense hostility he had just faced–he would rather face this storm twice over than face Aemond again. The howling wind and lashing rain seemed almost sympathetic, echoing the turmoil within him as he hasted back to Arrax, ready to depart and leave the storm–and the strife–behind.

As Luke approached, Arrax let out a roar, vigorously shaking his head in the pouring rain. The downpour soaked through Luke’s clothes almost instantly, the chill seeping deep into his skin. His heart thundered furiously, its rhythm mirroring the chaos of the storm swirling around them. Arrax seemed uneasy, casting nervous glances around–his distress amplified by the thunder cracking overhead.

Luke cast a wary glance towards the curtain wall, squinting through the dense veil of rain. A flash of lightning momentarily lit up the sky, revealing an unsettling emptiness where Vhagar had previously been. Scanning the entirety of the wall, the realization hit him: Vhagar was gone.

A shudder of fear ripped through him, his teeth clattering uncontrollably from both the penetrating cold and his rising dread. Turning back to Arrax, Luke gripped the ladder leading to the saddle. He ran his hand soothingly over the dragon’s scales as Arrax issued a shrill cry, seemingly an echo of his rider’s own fear.

“Dokimarvose! Laehossa ynot, Arraks!” Luke soothed, his voice striving to calm both his dragon and himself. He continued to pat Arrax reassuringly, before climbing into the saddle. “Lykirī! Ryptēs! Rȳbās!”

Focus! Pay attention, Arrax. Be calm. Listen. Obey.

Once securely in the saddle, the rain plastered Luke’s hair against his face, making his clothes cling to him like a second skin. Water dripped from his nose and chin, adding to his discomfort. Regret washed over him for not having left earlier, at the first sign of Vhagar, knowing Aemond was lurking within. He should have seized the opportunity to leave–his mother would have understood. But then again, it was his duty to deliver her message.

“Sōvēs, Arraks!” Luke commanded, gripping the handles and securing his legs tightly around the saddle, despite the burning in his muscles and the pervasive chill seeping through his soaked clothing.

Fly, Arrax!

Arrax unfurled his wings, catching the wind and ascending higher into the stormy sky, leaving the safety of the ground to fly home. The clouds hung oppressively low, the rain so thick and relentless that visibly dwindled to near nothing. Droplets stung Luke’s face, forcing him to squint against the merciless deluge. Each drop felt like a shard of ice slicing against his skin, until his cheeks grew so cold that they numbed completely.

As they soared upward, thunder roared mightily, its powerful echoes resonating deep within Luke’s chest, And he struggled to maintain a firm grip on the handles, his hands growing numb in the chilling, biting wind.

Below them, the sea reflected the storm’s ferocity, its waves crashing violently against the shore with an almost vicarious intensity, threatening to swallow whatever may fall into it.

Frequent bolts of lightning cleaved the darkened sky, their bright flashes intermittently illuminating the ominous clouds. Amidst the elemental uproar, Luke desperately scanned the skies for any sign of Vhagar, but the dense clouds and the thick deluge of rain obscured his vision, making it impossible to see. He hoped that Aemond, with his solitary eye, encountered even greater difficulty in navigating the shroud of clouds.

It was a futile hope, Luke knew, as the clawing dread of being hunted sent prickles of terror up the back of his neck. The sense of vulnerability intensified as they climbed higher into the storm, attempting to rise above it.

Suddenly, a low, ominous growl cut through the turbulent air, rivaling the boom of the thunder and sending a jolt of panic through Luke. His heart skipped a beat as he cast a cautious glance over his shoulder, his eye straining to pierce the dense shroud of clouds. He was not alone in his reaction; Arrax roared nervously, his wings beating frantically against the buffeting wind.

Luke was keenly aware of not only his own mounting horror but also that of Arrax. It was as though the dragon’s heart was beating right next to his own, both drumming rapidly–a discordant tune of fear. He tightened his grip on the saddle, striving to steady both himself and his dragon, as he shouted, “Lykirī!”

Be calm–he urged.

In the midst of the storm, a flash of lightning momentarily lit up their surroundings. Luke scanned the clouds, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as something flickered at the edge of his vision. He looked up, but the next flash of lightning revealed nothing more than the swirling mass of clouds.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably from the cold; his skin numb and muscles rigid. The sensations in his body had almost disappeared, overwhelmed by a surging tide of dread. The icy sting of the rain felt distant now, overshadowed by the looming threat.

He longed for home–a deep, almost childlike yearning to be back in the safety and warmth of home.

Suddenly, the shadowy figure of a dragon burst through the gloom, hurtling towards Luke and Arrax with its vicious maw open. Luke gasped in shock and terror, almost choked on it, as Vhagar’s claws snapped menacingly close, missing them narrowly. The growl of Vhagar formed a malevolent setting, barely audible over the howling wind, and was soon followed by the chilling sound of cruel, maniacal laughter.

Arrax struggled against the wind, his wings flapping erratically in a desperate bid to ascend higher and escape. They were unmistakingly being hunted, and each beat of Arrax’s wings was a frantic effort to evade their pursuer through the storm.

Casting a desperate glance over his shoulders, Luke saw Vhagar’s jaws snapping from the dark clouds, her teeth glinting ominously in the sporadic bursts of lightning. Arrax veered aside just in time as Vhagar pursued them, her massive maw opening and closing, threatening to engulf them in her deadly embrace.

“I see you! Ilībōños!” Aemond’s voice cut through the howling wind, strained but still loud enough for Luke to hear. Bastard.

The sound of Aemond’s voice sent a fresh wave of terror through Luke. In a desperate bid for escape, he directed Arrax downward, the dragon retracting its wings to accelerate their rapid descent towards the sea. They were smaller and more agile than Vhagar, which was their sole advantage in this dire situation.

Luke kept his eyes forward, yet he could still sense Vhagar’s presence looming ominously close behind them, like a deadly shadow stalking their every move. “Aderī! Pālēs!”

Quickly! Turn!

In response, Arrax executed a sharp turn before extending his wings again, skimming just above the raging sea. Luke leaned heavily to one side of the saddle, striving to steer Arrax closer to the cliffs, hoping they would provide some cover. They flew into the narrow crevice between the cliffs, just wide enough for them to maneuver but too constricted for Vhagar to follow.

Luke’s body trembled with unease, and his stomach churned as they flew through the cliffside passage, with the sea below frothing violently, threatening to swallow him whole should he fall. The wind within the crevice howled even fiercer, posing a constant threat of pushing them either into the sea or against the rocky walls, and as they emerged on the other side, Luke risked a backwards glance to see Vhagar’s silhouette scouring the cliffs from above.

Seeking refuge within the concealing embrace of the clouds, Luke and Arrax soared higher, attempting to vanish from sight.

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā!” The distant, muffled echoes of Aemond’s voice carried through the air. “Taobus!”

You owe a debt! Boy!

Luke felt a profound sense of terror as he urged Arrax higher into the sky, his heart pounding relentlessly. The echoes of Aemond’s voice spurred them on, pushing them to increase the distance between themselves and their pursuer. If they could just get above the storm…

Enveloped in the dense shroud of clouds, Luke soon realized with alarm that Arrax had inadvertently veered back towards Vhagar. He could sense Arrax’s fear as much as he could feel his own; the dragon’s heart trumped as though it lay beside his own within his chest. He could feel the primal instinct to defend–to protect both himself and Luke, his rider. It was as intense as the moment Luke had picked up that dagger in defense of his brother, driven solely by the need to protect.

“Daor, Arraks! Yne dohaerās!” Luke shouted as Arrax, acting on instinct, unleashed a torrent of fire that engulfed Vhagar’s head. The blaze cut through the dark tempest, searing heat momentarily warming Luke’s chilled skin. “Dohaerās, Arraks! Hepās, vēzot!”

No, Arrax! Serve me! Serve, Arrax! Climb higher!

Behind them, Vhagar’s roar melded with the raging wind, its ferocity mounting as they climbed higher. Arrax strained against the storm, his wings laboring hard to propel them upward, each forceful stroke pushing them higher through the dense cloud cover. The relentless rain continued to pelt them, the cold droplets piercing Luke’s numb skin like needles, making his bones feel as if they had turned to ice.

Fear clutched at Luke’s throat, each breath sharp and labored, almost as if the rain was drowning him. His heart thudded so rapidly it seemed to barely beat at all, threatening to burst from his chest with exertion. The battle against the elements, the relentless pursuit, and the dizzying altitude all compounded into utter terror, pushing Luke and Arrax to their limits as they desperately tried to escape the man and his dragon that hunted them so heedlessly.

In the back of his mind, a mocking voice taunted Luke for his fear, insinuating that the wetness of his clothes might as well have been his own doing–even as the rain continued to pelt him mercilessly. Luke yearned to be brave, for Arrax to be swifter, for the reassurance presence of Jace or Daemon. His initial desire to prove himself worthy of Driftmark now seemed a distant memory as he fled for his life.

All he wanted was to return home–to be with his mother, to be surrounded by his family. Home, that was all he yearned for.

Luke clung to the hope that if they could just escape the ire of the storm, they would find safety. As they ascended, the rain gradually lessened until, finally breaking through the thick layer of clouds, a stretch of clear blue sky appeared above them.

Relief washed over Luke as they broke through into the bright clarity of clear skies. He squinted against the sun’s brilliance, its rays warm and welcoming. The light bathed his face, easing the chill that had seeped into his bones, and he felt the tension in his muscles begin to unwind now that he was able to see clearly.

Below them, the vast expanse of heavy, gray storm clouds stretched out like a tumultuous sea, their surface serenity belying the violent chaos that roiled within. The clouds, dense and imposing just moments before, now formed towering columns that soared upwards, their peaks brushing against the upper limits of the sky. Though still formidable, they were now navigable, presenting a less daunting obstacle than flying directly through the storm.

In the newfound calm of the higher altitude, Arrax’s wingbeats became less frantic, no longer having to battle the fierce winds or struggle to maintain a punishing speed. They glided gracefully through the sky, each stroke smooth and measured.

A sense of wary respite enveloped Luke, the pounding of his heart slowed to a more composed rhythm. He took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs and clearing his mind. His eyes remained vigilant, continuously scanning the sea of clouds below for any sign of Vhagar. Luke held onto the silent hope that they had successfully lost their pursuer in the tempest’s wrath, allowing them a momentary peace as they soared towards safety.

A movement in the corner of his eye–a swirling within the clouds–caught Luke’s attention. He let out a shriek, his heart sinking, and before he could steer Arrax to the side, the gleam of teeth

Rhaenyra stood with a commanding presence behind the massive table, her focus sharp as she listened intently to Lord Bartimos Celtigar and Lord Gunthor Darklyn. The chamber was alive with hushed discussions, the air tinged with the soft glow of candles and the flickering light of the hearth. Outside, the darkness of a moonless sky was deep and impenetrable, adding a sense of foreboding that seemed almost tangible. The chamber’s tall windows rattled intermittently, as gusts of wind carried a faint, haunting howl through them.

Her gaze moved from the meticulously crafted wooden map stretching out before her to the solemn face of her husband as he entered the chamber, his shoulders taut and eyes low, and she knew immediately that he brought ill tidings. Her spine straightened in response, as though preparing herself for the weight of the words Daemon brought.

An icy hand of dread gripped Rhaenyra’s heart at the sight of her husband, her pulse quickening in anticipation, mingling with the ever-present ache in her empty womb. The room seemed to grow colder as shadows danced ominously around them, casting foreboding silhouettes upon the chamber's ancient stone walls. The courtiers looked on with grim faces, some staring at their feet, unsure where else to look.

Daemon approached, his outstretched hand offering an unspoken invitation to step away from the prying ears scattered throughout the room, drawing her closer to the knitting hearth. This simple gesture carried an intimate significance, as if the very air around them formed a protective barrier for their conversation.

Rhaenyra felt the warmth of his hand against her skin, the roughness of his calloused fingers gently tracing over her palm in a comforting gesture, unspoken words lingering in the subtle touch.

His expression was hard as stone, impassive, revealing nothing of the turmoil that might lay beneath–and in turn, her face grew more worried, brows inching down in a questioning frown.

In hushed tones, Daemon began to relay the grave news that had reached him from Storm’s End. His voice, tinged with sympathy, was almost a soothing balm, yet the gentle cadence could not mask the heavy impact of his words.

“Your son, Lucerys–” Daemon began, his eyes locked onto hers, and Rhaenyra felt a ringing in her ears as he spoke, almost drowning out the rest of his words. “He and his dragon have been slain by Aemond.”

As she absorbed the words, she did not react, her mind struggling to reconcile with the news.

Daemon’s voice grew dark and resolute. “I swear to you, my love, we shall avenge your son…”

As the words settled upon her like a shroud, a numbing sensation engulfed her senses. The world seemed to recede into a distant murmur, while the relentless pounding of her heart reverberated within her chest, an ominous drumbeat threatening to cease altogether. It felt as if something immense and significant had slipped through her grasp like elusive smoke, leaving a gaping void where there had once been part of her soul. She felt it tear away from her, lost with her son.

She couldn’t make out her name as he spoke, yet she sensed it nonetheless, its echo resonant like the distant murmur of waves. Overwhelmed, she found herself unable to respond, her thoughts ensnared in a tumultuous haze.

A relentless, gnawing ache festered deep within her core, a malevolent force that seemed intent on devouring her from the inside out. With each passing moment, it intensified, its cruel grip tightening like a vice around her being. Her fragile bones creaked and groaned under the oppressive weight, as though they threatened to shatter into a thousand fragments, and she was forced to catch herself just as one of her knees buckled, nearly sending her to the floor.

She hunched forward, drawing her body inward as if to shield herself from the overwhelming surge of grief that swept over her. Her fingers, trembling and desperate, clawed at the empty swell of her stomach. The fabric of her garments offered little resistance as she dug her fingers into her flesh, as though she wished to gouge out the very source of her torment.

Her son, her sweet boy, had been cruelly torn from her in an act of revenge. The boy she had carried within her womb, nurtured, and watched grow into a young man, now gone. All the love she had poured into him, the dreams she had held for his future, the expectations of safety and happiness–all were shattered into a million pieces, leaving her to grapple with a world too painful to bear.

In the agony of grief, Rhaenyra confronted a painful truth: her previous understanding of grief had been naive–childish, even.

She thought she should have felt it, sensed it in the very depths of her soul, much like one might sense the loss of a limb–a visceral awareness that something was irrevocably lost. He was her son, her own flesh and blood. She should have known–felt it deep within her heart, where his absence should have resonated like a hollow echo.

But there was no such premonition.

Death rarely came with a warning–Rhaenyra knew that all too well. She had grown familiar with it, yet the absence of forewarning stung with a fresh pain each time. She had endured the loss of her mother, and numerous siblings–so many that she had learned to guard her heart–she had lost her lover, her husband, her father, and her stillborn daughter. She was no stranger to loss. But this grief was a different agony entirely. It was suffocating, clawing at her throat, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. This pain felt more visceral, more relentless than anything she had felt before. And she was entirely at its mercy.

A strangled cry tore through Rhaenyra’s throat, a sound of raw anguish as though the air itself had been wrenched from her lungs. She gasped for breath, her body quaking and knees threatening to buckle under the weight of her sorrow. Despite the trembling weakness, she forced herself to remain standing. She knew that if she allowed herself to collapse, rising again might be beyond her strength.

What was perhaps the most heart-wrenching was that she had believed him to be safe. She had sent him to Storm’s End because it was closer, because she believed it to be safer.

Hot tears burned a merciless path down her cheeks as she stifled a sob. She had sent him to his death…

With each breath she took, it felt as though her lungs filled not with air but with water, dragging her deeper into the depths of despair. An overwhelming urge to scream, to shatter into a thousand fractured pieces, clawed at the edges of her consciousness, pounding profusely at her temples. Yet, she resisted the urge to scream, choosing instead to swallow the excruciating pain, carving out a piece of her heart, and even her very soul.

They had stolen her birthright, the Iron Throne that was rightfully hers. They had imprisoned her daughter and taken the life of another before she could ever draw breath. They had mercilessly slain her son. They took and took from her, never ceasing their relentless grasping.

Amidst the shattered remnants of her heart, a new sensation began to stir–a searing blaze, an inferno that coursed through her veins like molten iron, that burned within her chest like dragonfire. It was a rage so profound and all-consuming that, for a moment, it seemed to burn through the thick fog of grief and despair that had enveloped her.

Rhaenyra turned to face the map of Westeros spread out before her.

As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she knew she must rise above small human emotion. Yet, she resolved to deliver justice upon those who opposed her–the usurpers and murderers who had robbed her of her rights and loved ones.

They desired war, and they would have it.

With fire and blood.

#a vow of blood #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc

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thebabblingbrookenook · 10 months

Text

Say It

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Female Character

Summary: Benedict thinks he is in love, but can you ever really be sure?

Word Count: 2.2K

Author's Note: No beta on this one. Just kinda had a thought and knocked it out quickly. I apologize for any egregious mistakes. Song Inspo for this one is Can We Pretend That We're Good by Daniel Seavey. Let me know what you think!

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It started on a drunken whim. An errant thought that the alcohol voiced without his consent. While he watched her giggle after tripping up the stairs to her bedroom, the notion struck him square in the chest. Did he love her? Maybe he did. He liked the way she smelled. He liked her satisfied hum right before she fell asleep after he had thoroughly fucked her senseless. Her unpredictable nature was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t sure if the way his heart raced when he was with her was affection or a warning sign. She would either be the best thing for him, or the start of his demise.

Yes, he had thought through the addled haze of his tequila soaked brain, he might love her. The garbled words were tumbling out of his mouth before his conscious mind even registered their meaning.

“Do you love me,” he slurred as she untucked his white shirt from the waist of his pants.

Her fingers stilled on his belt, eyes shooting up to meet his in shock. He had never seen her look shy before, it was cute. But he didn’t like the way she now hid from him slightly, and he actually hated the way her voice shook with uncertainty. “Would it be okay with you if I did?”

“Maybe,” he hiccuped with a shy smile of his own. “Would you mind if I loved you, too?”

“I think I could live with that,” she admitted before continuing to undress him.

He realized now that he had asked her this way because he needed to hear her say it first before he could take the risk.

Something that began rooted in insecurity turned into an intimate inside joke that followed them and evolved throughout their relationship.

She woke up in his arms every morning, and every morning he would smile into her neck, inhaling everything she was, and he would start their day together with a simple question.

“Do you love me,” he would ask in a sleepy morning whisper.

She always nuzzled her backside deeper into him at the sound of his voice. “You know I do.”

“Say it.” Sometimes a command, sometimes a plea.

“I love you, Benedict,” she would always oblige.

His name on her lips hardened him instantly, and her knowing giggle made him twitch against her.

“I love you too.”

“I know,” she said confidently. “Now show me how much.”

And he would. He would show her until there was nothing left of himself to give. He would show her until she clenched around him, clutching to his shoulders in ecstasy. He would show her until every shred of doubt was eradicated from her heart.

It was his favorite question to ask because her answer was always his favorite thing to hear. Do you love me? You know I do.

Even after knock-down drag-out fights, he would find himself uttering the words. They became a reminder, a coded acknowledgement that he was still all in. They could go hours without speaking, seething in separate corners, neither willing to admit defeat. But eventually he would always ask. Usually with his tail between his legs and his eyes averted, but he would ask. He would ask, because no matter how angry she was, he was always sure what the answer would be, and he needed to hear it. He needed her to give him the unspoken permission to show her how much he loved her in return.

“Love me?” His eyes would search her face beseechingly.

Her body softened into his, and she would meet him in surrender. “You know I do. I might not like you very much right now, but I always love you.”

Her declarations of love were a jolt to his heart - every… single… time. Who needed drugs when a high like that could be running through his veins? That vow, coming from a soul like hers… it was enough to carry him through anything. It fueled his ego, boosting his confidence to an absurd level. It gave him a delusional sense of invincibility, taking risks that others deemed him crazy in light of. But even if he failed, what did it matter when he had her behind him? Why would he care if the entire world hated who he claimed to be if a woman like her confessed to love him. She made him better in every sense of the word. She pushed him into greatness with her unflinching belief in him. She healed parts of him that he hadn’t even known were broken.

She was his measurement. She was his balancing scale. She weighed him in her gaze, delivering her verdict swiftly, and with a grace he seldom thought he deserved. When others tried to cast judgements over him, he would always bring them into comparison with hers.

All it took was a text. Four simple words, punctuated by a question, no other context required. Somehow she always knew why he needed to hear it.

B: Do you love me?

H: You know I do. <3

B: Say it.

H: I love you, Benedict.

B: Are you sure? Not tired of me yet?

H: Meh. Last week I could have been talked out of it. Yesterday was definitely iffy. But today… I’ve never been so sure of something in my life.

B: God, I love you.

H: Show me…

B: Tell me how and I’ll never stop.

H: What are you wearing?

He planned to ask her the same question until the day he died. He didn’t care how many times she rolled her eyes or swatted him away in annoyance. He planned…

But what of her plans? Did she want to be tied to him for the rest of her life? What did her version of forever look like? Was he in that picture? Maybe there was a new question he needed to ask her…

He didn’t like asking questions he didn’t know the answer to. There was always a chance he wouldn’t like what he heard. But the last time he asked her a question he was unsure of, it worked out pretty well. He was sure she loved him, and that fact alone gave him courage to ask something new.

“Do you love me,” he asked for the thousandth time.

“You know I do,” was her practiced reply

“How much do you love me?” He tested, nerves wracked from head to toe.

Confusion colored her beautiful features. He had deviated from their reliable routine. He feared he may have severely misstepped, but then she smiled. Warm and reassuring, she pressed into him. “More than enough, you goof.”

He held her silently for a moment. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to enjoy the feel of her body against his. He wanted to commit the smell of her hair to his memory, bury it so deep that it was impossible to forget. Just in case…

“Do you love me enough to marry me?” His lungs froze, hoarding all the oxygen from the rest of his body.

She went stiff in his arms, slowly lifting her head from his chest to look up into his face. “Benedict…”

His name had never sounded that way on her lips before, and he never wanted it to sound that way again. There was distance in her breath, trepidation on her tongue. He waited for her to go on, but they remained in silence, frozen in the echo of their last untainted embrace.

“Say it,” he pleaded.

“I can’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You can’t say it, or you can’t marry me?” The prick of ice cold water was trickling down his spine. Fear… it was fear.

“I…Benedict… I ca-” her words fell away as her eyes filled with panic. “Please, can we just go back to who we were five minutes ago? Everything was fine the way it was. Why does it need to change? We were happy. We were free.”

“Free?” The horror of his realization plunged into his chest. On instinct, he let go and stepped away from her. “Marriage with me would be a prison, is that it? The idea of forever with me feels like a trap?”

“Forever is a long time, Benedict. I don’t know what I will want tomorrow, let alone forever. No one can.” She tried to reach for him but he took a step back.

“I do!” He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “I love you. I want you today. I want you tomorrow. I want you a month from now, and I’ll still want you fifty years from now when we can barely remember each other’s names. I want forever, and I want it with you.”

“I don’t think I believe in forever, Benedict. I believe in right now. You and me. I love you. Please don’t do this.”

“No,” his shoulders tightened defensively. “ You love me right now. What you’re really saying is that you love me - for now. Until what…? You get bored? Someone better comes along? Is that it, is there someone else?”

“No!” She reached for him again and this time he let her entwine their hands. “Of course not, Benedict. I would never do that to you. I fucking love you, you idiot. Why can’t we just keep going as we were? What’s so wrong with that? I’m not ready for this to be over.”

He shook his head trying to clear the chaos clanging around his mind. “You don’t want this to be over, but you don’t want forever. You just want the freedom to leave whenever you decide.”

“You’d have that freedom too. Who’s to say it would be me leaving you?” She squeezed his hand a little tighter. “Who says anyone is leaving at all? If we have the freedom to leave, we also have the freedom to stay.”

“It would never be me leaving you. Never. I don’t want the freedom to go. I want the promise of always. Even when it’s ugly. Even when leaving would be the easiest choice. I don’t want it to be easy to choose to walk away. I want a covenant, something enduring. I don’t want to spend my life waiting for the day that you decide to leave me just because you can. That’s not love. That’s something imitating love. Something fraudulent trying to pass itself off as the real thing. Love doesn’t make evacuation plans. Love is sure. After all this time… you still aren’t sure about me?”

“It’s not that simple, Benedict.” Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat strained with tension. “And it’s not fair. Nothing is ever for sure. Not completely.”

“How can we build anything on a foundation of uncertainty? What’s the point if we can’t make plans, if we can’t dream together?”

“But why does there need to be plans?! We can support each other’s dreams without all of that.” Her voice was pitched in frustration.

“You see us in the future as two separate people on individual paths that are walking side-by-side. I see two people coming together as one and sharing a life dreamt together. One where there isn’t room for selfishness. A life combined, equal parts you and me. Children. Is that even something that you want?”

“I’ll tell you one thing I am sure of,” she wailed. “I hate this. I hate this so much. I want to go back.”

He swiped a tear from her face and stroked her cheek. “I don’t think that we can, darling.”

“Come to bed with me,” she begged. “Please, Ben. I just want you to hold me. I need you to make this go away. At least for the night.”

Reluctantly, he allowed her to pull him behind her towards her room. He allowed her to pull him atop her in the night. He allowed her to guide him inside her, to pull herself deeper into his heart. He allowed himself to forget the pain of the words said and the truth laid bare. He gave himself permission for one last time. For one last touch that lingered. For one more night with the promise of forever securely sleeping in his arms.

When he woke the next morning, wrapped around her like he always was, he pressed his nose to her neck like he always did, and inhaled the memory of her. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t. He wanted to hear her say what she always did, but this time she wouldn’t. Not in the way he needed. Not in the way he thought she had always meant.

He could feel her stirring awake beneath him. Before he allowed himself anything else, he released his hold and climbed off the bed. Where to, he didn’t know.

He didn’t have time to decide before her small voice filled his ears. “You didn’t ask me if I love you.”

Pausing in the doorway, he looked back to her over his shoulder. “I didn’t need you to say it. I know you don’t.”

He wasn’t sure if anything would ever feel sure ever again.

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Tags: None this time. This wasn't planned lol

#Benedict Bridgerton fanfiction #Benedict Bridgerton x OFC #bridgerton fanfiction #Benedict Bridgerton #angst #emotional hurt/comfort

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