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#and i wasn’t counted absent.
galaxy-siren · 4 months
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Reunion
Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: Eddie is forced to go to his 10 year high school reunion. He is not happy about it since everyone is treating him different now that he's famous, but once he finds out you're there, his mood changes.
Word Count: 3.3k
Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, second chance romance, rockstar!eddie, theatre!reader, kissing, a few curse words
AN: I'M BACK! I am so sorry that I haven't posted a new fic in a while. Life has been busy and the motivation to write has been absent. But I finally finished this and I am excited to post it! I've had this idea for a while, and I hope you all enjoy! Also this is my 100th Eddi fic! (actually I think I hit 100 a couple fics ago, but nonetheless YAY!)
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“Eddie did you hear a word I just said?”
Eddie looked up from his guitar and saw the band’s publicist, Kim, standing in the doorway of the recording studio. He looked at her like a little kid who was in trouble, “No.”
She groaned, “Can you put the guitar down and listen to me please?”
“Fine,” Eddie rolled his eyes and put the guitar back on its stand, “you have my full undivided attention.”
“Your ten-year high school reunion is coming up. I think it would be a good idea for you to go.”
His eyebrow rose in question, “First of all, how the hell did you know that? And second, why?”
“Eddie I am your publicist…I know everything. And it would make for a good photo-op if you and the guys all went.”
“Well, it would just be me and Jeff since we were the only ones in the same graduating class.”
“Whatever, it’s good publicity. You’re going.” She turned to leave.
“Wait, hold up,” he jogged over to the door, “I don’t even get a choice?”
She scoffed, “No, you don’t. You and Jeff are going and that’s final.”
“Okay, mom.” Eddie said with a sarcastic tone. He knew there was no point in arguing with her.
Eddie hadn’t thought about high school in years. He had spent a good amount of time trying to purge the memories from his brain in fact, but a few bestselling albums and a couple of sold-out tours helped do the trick. Hawkins was the last place he wanted to go to (other than the occasional visit to see Wayne of course), but he knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Once Kim put her foot down, there was nothing he could do to change her mind. He just hoped there would be enough drinks to make the night at least somewhat tolerable.
-
A few weeks later, Eddie was back at Hawkins High School, a place he never thought he would ever return to or wanted to return to. Only this time he wasn’t being ridiculed and jeered; he was being swarmed by his former peers, some asking for photos, others for autographs, and it was beginning to piss him off.
He managed to get away from the crowd and find Jeff sitting down at a table in the corner.
“This,” Eddie angerly pulled out a chair and sat down, “this is the exact reason I didn’t want to come to this thing.”
“Don’t like being popular this time around?” Jeff laughed as he took a sip of his beer.
Eddie glared at Jeff and continued his rant, “Most of these people made our lives a nightmare in school, but now they’re acting like we were ride or die friends. The only thing that has changed is that we’ve become successful, so now they want to be able to claim that they knew us and loved us ‘before the fame.’” Eddie put air quotes around the last bit.
“Just ignore them.” Jeff shrugged his shoulders.
Eddie shook his head and grabbed Jeff’s beer out of his hand, “I wish I could,” he took a swig of Jeff’s drink, “but that’s hard to do when a camera flash goes off every five seconds.”
“The night will be over soon enough.” Jeff patted Eddie on the back and surveyed the room. Eddie wasn’t lying, people would not stop taking photos, they were worse than the paparazzi.
“Not soon enough,” he took another drink of Jeff’s beer and handed it back to him, “I say we give it another twenty minutes and then we leave.”
“We promised Kim we would stay the whole time.”
Eddie’s head snapped in Jeff’s direction, “What she doesn’t know won’t kill her, Jeffery.”
Jeff rolled his eyes, he knew Eddie must have been really pissed if he was using his full name, “Dude, she knows everything. She’ll find out.”
“Fine! One more hour. How about that?”
Jeff gave a defeated sigh, he knew there was no arguing with him, “Alright.”
“Good.” Eddie grumpily slumped down into his sit.
Jeff stood up, “I’m gonna go get us some stronger drinks.”
“Make mine a double.” Jeff had to hold back his laughter, Eddie looked like a grumpy little kid who wanted to go home, which wasn’t terribly far from the truth.
Two women who Eddie vaguely recognized as girls from the cheer team came up to him and asked for an autograph, which Eddie reluctantly agreed to. A few other people who said they had been in marching band came up and asked for a photo, Eddie put on a fake smile and then slumped back down in his chair. He looked at his watch, only fifty-six minutes until he booked it out of there.
“Dude! Dude! Dude!” Jeff ran up to the table with their drinks in hand.
“What?” Eddie wondered what could possibly have made Jeff so excited.
Jeff handed Eddie his drink and sat down next to him, “You will never guess who I saw at the bar.”
Eddie normally would have given him a sarcastic reply, but his foul mood prevented his normal snark. He took a sip of his drink, “Who?”
“Y/N L/N.”
The dark rain cloud over Eddie’s head disappeared and he instantly perked up, “Are you serious?”
“I mean she was part of our graduating class, so is it really that much of a shock that she’s here.”
“Should I go talk to her?”
“Yes! Go!”
“Okay, okay,” Eddie stood and smoothed out his jacket, “do I look good?”
Jeff rolled his eyes, “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Would you just go already!”
Eddie downed his drink and smoothed his jacket one more time before finally making his way over to the bar. Every step he took he felt more and more nervous. Eddie had the world’s biggest crush on you when you were in school. You were the coolest, smartest, and kindest person Eddie had ever met, and he thought you were beautiful, inside, and out. The two of you liked the same books, movies, music, and you had even told him you wanted to learn how to play DND one day, which was the moment he fell head over heels for you. You were Eddie’s dream girl, but he had always been too chicken to actually ask you out. You had been friends, talked all the time, you had even hung out a few times outside of school, but never one on one, and never in anyway that could have been seen as romantic.
As he walked through the hoard of people that tried to mob him, he couldn’t help but think that this was his second chance. But as he got closer, doubt crept into his mind. What if you didn’t remember him? It had been ten years. What if you never actually liked him, and were just being nice all those times the two of you chatted in class and in the halls? What if you didn’t like metal music anymore?!
He felt his heart in his throat when he finally saw you. You were just as beautiful as he remembered, same sparkly eyes, same gentle smile, and same aura of kindness. His stomach was in knots, his heart was beating so fast he thought it might burst out of his chest, which would have been kind of metal, but not an opportune time for it. He had never felt this nervous in his life, and he had been performing to sold out concert venues for years, the irony made him chuckle to himself.
The second you locked eyes, his nerves washed away when he was greeted with a beaming smile.
“Eddie Munson. Is that really you?”
His name sounded liked poetry when you said it, “Yeah.”
You ran up to him and wrapped your arms around him in a warm hug. He returned it, pulling you as close to his chest as possible.
“Oh my god! How have you been?”
“Good. Great actually. How about you?”
Your smile somehow got even bigger, “I’ve been great too! I’ve missed you.”
Only thirty seconds in and he could already feel himself turning into putty in your hands, “I’ve missed you too.”
You pulled back from the hug and grabbed his hand, “Come on, we absolutely need to catch up, and it’s kind of loud in here.”
You pulled him out of the gymnasium towards the hallway. On the way out, Eddie glanced over at Jeff who gave him a thumbs up and an enthusiastic smile.
-
The hallway was quiet, but a welcomed quiet, one that would allow for old friends to catch up. Eddie and you walked side by side down the hall, no particular destination in mind.
“I can’t believe you came.”
He looked at you with a quirked brow, “What do you mean?”
“Well, even if you weren’t a bigshot rockstar,” you elbowed him playfully and he let out a shy chuckle, “a high school reunion just doesn’t seem like your scene.”
“It’s not, our publicist kind of forced me and Jeff to come.”
“I figured it was something like that.”
“But I’m glad I came since I got to see you.” He nudged your shoulder with his.
Eddie could have melted from the smile you gave him, and he nearly passed out when you linked your arm with his and leaned your head against his shoulder, “I’m glad you came too. It’s nice getting to see you instead of just hearing you.”
“You listen to our music?”
“Oh, not that much. Just whenever it comes on the radio, on my Walkman, on my stereo at home when I’m cleaning.”
“Cleaning?” He laughed.
“Keeps me pumped up and motivated to do the dishes.” You looked up at him with a smirk.
“Well, I guess it’s safe to say you know what I’ve been up to since high school,” you both chuckled, “what have you been doing?”
You lifted your head up to talk, but kept your arm linked with his, “Well, I graduated from college and thought to myself, ‘what the hell am I supposed to do with a theatre degree?’ So, I packed up my shit and moved to New York.”
Eddie stopped in his tracks, “No freaking way!”
“What?”
“You live in New York?” you nodded your head and a beaming smile spread across Eddie’s face, he tried to contain his excitement but couldn’t help himself from jumping up and down, “You’re kidding! I’m in New York.”
Your eyes grew twice their size in surprise, “Oh my god, are you serious?! Wait, I thought you and the guys were in LA?”
“We were for a while, but last year we decided to move to New York for a change of scenery. How have I not seen you?”
You threw your head back and laughed, “Well, New York is a huge city with millions of people, Eddie. So, I don’t think it’s hard to believe that we haven’t run into each other.”
“I guess you’re right,” you continued walking, “so, theatre degree huh?”
You shrugged your shoulders, “I mean, what else was I gonna major in?”
“Oh, don’t be all modest. You were brilliant. You could have majored in anything and been the top of your class.”
“You were brilliant too! Still are.”
Eddie blushed at the compliment, “We’re not talking about me right now. So, you were saying you packed up all your shit and moved to New York.”
You chuckled, “Yup. I went to audition after audition and nothing for months. I was starting to think of calling it quits and moving back here, but I knew I would kick myself if I threw in the towel so quickly. And as luck would have it, I got an audition for a brand new musical.”
“Holy shit! Did you get the part?” Eddie asked with excitement.
“No, I kind of bombed it, but one of the casting directors liked me and connected me to a friend of his who was doing a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and now I’m a regular with Shakespeare in the Park.”
“I’m so happy for you! Your next show, I will be there in the front row cheering like a banshee the second you walk on stage.”
“Thank you.” You smiled as a brief silence fell between you. A ten-year-old secret came to the forefront of your mind as you continued your walk to nowhere, your arm in his, your head on his shoulder. Your heart fluttered in your chest being this close to him again.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Eddie opened the door and held it open for you to walk outside.
You took a deep breath before taking a seat on one of the benches just outside the door, “You know I always told myself that if I ever saw you again, I would tell you.”
“Sounds serious.” He sat down next to you.
After another deep breath, you turned to face him, “You know,” you released a nervous chuckle, “I always had a crush on you in high school.”
Eddie blinked a couple of times before speaking, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. Maybe I have something in my ear.”
You nervously wrung your hands together and repeated yourself, “I, um, I said I always had a crush on you.”
“You’re joking, right?” Eddie stared at you with wide eyes.
“No.”
He stood up and ran his hands through his hair, his heart beating a mile a minute, “I can’t believe this!”
The sting of oncoming rejection filled your chest, “I’m sorry, Eddie. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, no, no, I can’t believe it because I had a crush on you back in high school too!”
Your head snapped up, “What?”
“Yeah, the biggest crush ever, if I’m being completely honest, I was fully in love with you.”
Your breath caught in your throat, “In love?”
“Oh, I was head over heels for you. I’m kind of surprised you didn’t know; I was not subtle about it at all.”
You stood up, “Well, I’m surprised you didn’t know how I felt since it was kind of obvious. I had convinced myself that you didn’t feel the same way.”
“Wait, obvious?”
“Eddie,” you chuckled, “I went to almost all of your shows at The Hideout, I started listening to metal music because you loved it so much, heck I asked you to teach me how to play DND! I mean I did want to learn, but I specifically asked you to teach me. I don’t know I thought I had made it obvious.”
Eddie thought back to every time he saw you in the crowd at The Hideout, every time he recommended a new album to you, every time you would sit in on a Hellfire campaign, and it all clicked, “Oh my god! I was such an oblivious moron!”
“Apparently we both were.”
He started to walk up to you with a smile on his face, “I guess the universe is giving us a second chance.”
“It appears so.” You put your hands behind your back and rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet.
He hesitated for a moment, but then took your hands in his, interlocking your fingers, “I don’t know when you’ll be back in New York, but would you want to get dinner when you do?”
“Why, Eddie Munson, are you asking me out on a date?” You teased with a glowing smile on your face.
He wrapped his arms around your waist, “Indeed I am.”
You snaked your arms up his chest and wrapped them around his neck, “I would love to get dinner with you, Eddie.”
The biggest, dopiest grin you had ever seen on his face spread from ear to ear, “This is best night of my life.”
“Even better than the night you opened for Metallica?”
“Okay, that was night was pretty metal, but it’s tied with tonight because both were a dream come true.”
You laughed, “God, you’re even cornier than you were in high school.”
“It’s part of the Munson charm, we get cheesier with age. Ask Wayne.” He looked at you with endearment and love in his eyes.
When your eyes met his, you were at a loss for words. You had almost forgotten how easily you could get lost in his eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes that always held so much warmth and kindness in them. You reached your hand up and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, a light blush appearing on his face at the contact.
“Can I kiss you?”
Eddie lost all coherent thought. Why you asking if you could kiss him threw him through more of a loop than you confessing that you had a crush on him in high school he didn’t know, but he tried to get his brain to start working so he could answer you with an enthusiastic yes.
“Eddie?” you tried to decipher the faraway look in his eyes, “Eddie, are you o—”
He cut you off by cupping your face with both hands and kissed you like had always wanted to. To say that the kiss was a dream come true for the both of you would have been an understatement. It was a kiss ten years in the making, and it was absolutely perfect.
After what simultaneously felt like an eternity and not nearly long enough, the two of you broke apart, breathless.
“Wow.” You said quietly as you leaned your forehead against his.
He smiled, amused, “‘Wow,’ that’s all you have to say.”
You playfully slapped his shoulder, “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe we finally kissed after ten years.”
He moved his arms back around your waist, “Better late than never, right?”
“That’s true.”
“I’m so fucking happy I came to this stupid reunion.” He said as he leaned back in for another kiss, followed by another, and then another, and another. The reunion forgotten by both of you. The two of you stayed outside wrapped in each other’s arms until Jeff came out to make sure Eddie didn’t ditch him. You spent the rest of the reunion with your hands intertwined and lovesick smiles on your faces.
-
“EDDIE!”
The guys all flinched at the sound of Kim’s booming voice.
“What the hell did you do now?” Jeff turned to Eddie.
Eddie shrugged, “I have no fucking clue.”
Kim burst through the door of the recording studio, her face red with anger, “Care to explain this!”
She shoved a magazine into Eddie’s chest and stood with her arms crossed, waiting for an explanation. Eddie took a look at the magazine, and a blush spread across his face as he let out a nervous laugh.
“When I said going to your reunion would make for a good photo-op, THIS is not what I had in mind.”
On the cover of the glossy tabloid was a photoset of Eddie and you in the middle of your momentous kiss, with the headline: “Off The Market? Lead singer and guitarist of rock band Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson, spotted locking lips with a mystery woman at his high school reunion. Has the musician finally found love?”
Kim tapped her manicured finger against her arm, growing more angry the longer it took Eddie to speak, “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”
“The lighting could have been better.”
Kim grabbed the magazine, rolled it up, and slapped Eddie upside the head, “Don’t be a smartass!”
She threw the magazine on the ground and stormed out of the recording studio. Eddie leaned down and picked up the magazine. He looked at the photos again with a smile on his face. Even though he hated the paparazzi, he was happy to have this particular moment committed to film. He decided to keep the magazine and frame it, proudly displaying it on the mantle of his fireplace, something that made you laugh the first time you went over to his place, and still does.
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fever-fluff · 4 months
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Cat's Out of the Bag, Claws and All
Synopsis: You’re sick of Cassian and Rhysand sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong. And Azriel’s tendency to let things slide when it comes to himself isn’t helping. Word Count: 4k (not proof read)
“I just think you’re becoming a bit…”
“A bit what, Cass?” Azriel was not in the mood for this. Sitting in Rita’s, in a booth right to the back while his two brothers pestered him on his love life was not how he wanted to spend the night after he’d returned to Velaris. You had been absent from his bed when he’d finally made it back in the early hours of the morning. Though he wasn’t worried. You had duties to attend to for Rhys as one of his foreign relations advisors, normally starting as soon as you woke in order to enjoy your evenings free of work to spend with him- even if he was the one still doing paperwork.
“Don’t you think she’s a bit too… extreme?” Azriel snarled at Cass’ blatant insult to you. But he held his hands up in peace, Rhys cutting in before he could do more damage. “What we’re trying to say, Azriel, is that it seems like you aren’t yourself lately. You’ve been showing up more recently, which is not a bad thing and we’re happy to see more of you. But it’s the reason of these increased showings that has us worried.”
Azriel supposed it was true. He had been showing up more – to social events that is. He was always present when it was just their inner circle, but the regular accepting of invitations to social events that didn’t need his presence was a new thing, something that you had gently insisted on since the two of you had become so close.
He was never one for meaningless interactions and had been pushing himself outside of his comfort zone for quite some time now by giving in every time you looked at him, pleading with those eyes of yours. He could never quite say no when you asked, and begged him, so nicely. But he nodded all the same to the two that he understood what they were trying to say, “I guess. I honestly didn’t think it was such a big deal. It makes her happy.”
“That’s the thing Az. Sure, it makes her happy. But does it make you?” Cass was trying, really trying not to say the wrong words and have this blow up in his face. Azriel thought for a moment, of all the times he’d watch you interact with others he didn’t even know the name of, never mind their importance to your work, while you linked your arm around his and had him trail along. He was always uncomfortable in the light, always wanting to slink back to the shadows. But you were the opposite, always blooming so lovely in the presence of everyone you deigned to offer your time to. He sometimes wished he could coddle you away from all their adoring eyes and have you all to himself. But he would never cage you like that.
“Not particularly. I do it for her, but sometimes I would rather sit at home while she goes about her work.” His admission was quiet, feeling that if he said it too loud it would carry on the wind and into your ear as you slept.
“What we’re trying to say, brother, is that spending your life with someone is all about compromise. You need to tell her when you don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable.” Since when has Cassian ever been so wise and all-knowing? He’d bet five gold marks Nesta had whipped that piece of sense into him after he’d thrown another of her books out the window, insisting on ‘a lovely stroll through Velaris’ instead. Azriel knew he was just jealous of the new male protagonist in her recent book series, garnering all her attention throughout the day.
But Cassian’s words had stuck in the back of his mind and refused to leave. Had he been compromising on his comfort for your own? You’d never pressed the issue with him, but he supposed he’d not put much of a front up against it in the past, agreeing almost immediately every time you’d asked for his company.
“You know I respect her and the work she does” Rhys had ordered another round as they settled in for the night of drinking ahead, “she’s one of the best at her job that I’ve ever seen, placating Eris is a testament to that. But she is intense, she has to be. I don’t want that to jeopardise you or your happiness with her in any way in the future. Putting up boundaries with her now is the best way to do that.”
Azriel knew his brothers had always had his best interest in their hearts when it came to things like this. Rhys’ intervention between him and Elain on Solstice years ago was a testament to that. He would have been hurt in a way he would never have come back from. Elain and Lucien’s bond was one of the strongest he’d ever seen – even rivalling that of Rhys and Feyre’s once given the chance. Then he’d met you. You had courted him from the minute you’d met, and he’d preened under the attention he’d longer centuries for. You weren’t his mate; no bond had snapped for him in the time he’d gotten to know you. But he’d worked past that and found that someone choosing to be with him purely of their own volition made it much harder to doubt whether he was worthy of you or not.
So, as they drank on, Azriel let their words mill over in his mind, finally agreeing with their concerns, and decided tomorrow he’d tell you how he really felt about all the parties you were asking him to attend.
Waking up to a hungover Azriel was a rare sight, but an amusing one none the less. You’d gone to bed last night early after reading a note he’d left, saying Rhys and Cass had asked him to drinks to catch up after being away for three months. You were upset, naturally, as you hadn’t seen him either during that time. But Azriel was a people pleaser, and he’d accepted their invitation with no qualms. So instead of wallowing in self-pity of not spending the first night with him back falling asleep in his arms, you had invited Mor and Feyre over to take your mind off it.
They’d left soon after midnight, Feyre wanting to get back to Nyx seeing as his father would be away most of the night. But all those sour feelings had left the second you’d awoken curled into his strong, tanned arms this morning.
Trying to shift in his hold, you’d felt him curl further into you with a groan, wing casting over the two of you to block the ray of sun peering in between the curtains. You laughed, sending a small gush of magic to pull it closed, cutting the bright light off. His hum of appreciation vibrated against your neck while you reached to play with the tresses of dark hair falling in front of his eyes. It was getting long again – which you preferred on him – but he’d cut it soon now that he was home.
“Good morning, love” you’d never tire of the purr the name elicited from the Illyrian warrior beside you, and it rumbled lowly as he reached into your touches further. “How were drinks with Cass and Rhys?”
“Long. Too long. Wanted to come home to you.” his voice, gods his voice. You loved it, the deep tones in the morning unlike anything else you’d ever heard.
“Yeah? I should have realised I’d need to rescue you, nab you back to have you all to myself.” One thing you’d realised in pursuing the Shadowsinger was his need for directness. His heart had been torn so many times that it wouldn’t beat for anything else. And you’d been more than happy to provide.
The morning was slow, full of sweetness and adoration you’d both been missing in his absence. Neither of you had been pressed to rise before noon until your stomach had grumbled its dislike of the lack of food. And so, you’d found yourselves sat at the small table in front of the windows overlooking Velaris, coffee and pastries in hand.
Azriel had woken from his drunken haze, and appeared caught in his own world, more so than usual as you noticed him missing the handle of his mug, for the second time. “Something on your mind, my love.”
His sigh was enough to know you wouldn’t like what he had to say, and your mind wandered to unpleasant thoughts of Rhys already assigning him to another mission far from home. “I swear on all that is good if that High Lord of yours assigned something else to you last nigh-”
“He hasn’t. And don’t forget he’s your High Lord also.” Azriel hated when you spoke against any decisions made by his family, which was rare. You were on the same page as them, mostly. But there were some things you disagreed strongly on. Not always living in Velaris had given you another taste of the world, and it faired well for you in your work here. But there were times when it caused temporary rifts between you and your friends, and you weren’t inclined to change if it could be solved with words instead of blades. But when it involved Azriel, you found yourself more and more inclined to picking up something sharp and slicing it into anything that wanted to steal him from you.
“We were… talking. Last night. About a couple things.” Azriel was not as sweet with words as his brother, but to see him lose them completely was new altogether. Putting the pieces together from the non-existent puzzle he’d left for you, you felt your breath hitch slightly, “About us?”
“Yeah…” you didn’t like this Azriel. The unsure and unconfident kind. He had a silent strength you’d admired since the first time you’d met. You’d fallen in love with the male that wasn’t this, and you hated seeing him act like anything lesser than he was.
“Azriel. Whatever it is, please speak to me about it. I want to know.” You’d moved from your chair, coming to sit on the side of his as you laid your hand next to his, letting him decide whether or not he wanted to take it. But the warmth that encased yours was comfort enough to know it wasn’t something that would break the two of you.  
“I – don’t want to go to the – social events anymore.” Your brows pinched in confusion, where was this coming from? “Care to tell me why?”
“I’m not a fan of them. At all really. And I realised I was doing something that wasn’t making me happy. It made you happy, which I’m glad, but I can’t do it anymore. S’ too much.”
You watched Azriel retreat into himself at the admission, but you said nothing as you saw his gaze flicker over the room until it finally landed on you, searching for any anger, or hurt. “If you think I’m angry, I’m not. I understand what you mean, and I’m glad you could tell me.”
“You are?”
You huffed a laugh, “Yea, I am. So long as they’re your thoughts and not your brothers, right?” he nodded, “They are.”
“Okay, no more unnecessary social outings, for you at least. I’ll still have to attend them, considering.” He nodded again, “of course, I wouldn’t assume otherwise.”
You kissed him lightly as you made to get ready for the day, the conversation ending quicker then it began. These mornings were all you really had alone with him, both your professions taking up the rest of your days and swallowing the majority of the daylight- and twilight.
He’d winnowed soon after from the garden after kissing you goodbye, seeming lighter now that he’d voiced his discomfort, and you released a sigh you’d been holding since.
There was a party in three days, one you’d assumed Azriel would attend with you. But now that he’d expressed his feelings about them, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. Instead, you’d prepare yourself for the emotional and verbal onslaught to come without the Shadowsinger by your side.
You hated these things. Really, really hated them. being in a room full of fae looking to raise their status, their family name in the long list of nobles was always a tiring feet to be around, but it was a necessary evil to your work. Mor stood beside you in all her ethereal glory, and the pair of you looked nothing more than astounding. Emerie was somewhere in the crowd of people, charming her way through each table she rounded. You were sometimes envious of the support she lends to Mor at these times, the two made a good pair in these places, balancing the other out that lead to progress you would only dream of making in such short time.
But it seemed tonight all you would find for yourself was concealed and blatant admissions of fae asking about your seemingly juicy availability.
“Ladies, it’s an honour to have received an invitation to such a grand celebration, pray tell” the male who’d sauntered his way over to the two of you leered in you direction, “has the lovely lady finally been freed from her cage? Should I thank the Shadowsinger for his decision to set you free from you confines that is the Court of Nightmares?” You blanched at his obvious attempt but concealed it under a smile too easy that it felt tight, “I believe you’ve been fed the wrong fruit from the vine my lord, Azriel and I are still quite the pair. I do hope you don’t mean to sully his name when he is not here to defend himself?” your sinister pout had the blood leeching from the males cheeks, and he stuttered himself into a stupor until he could find his feet to walk quickly away.
Sighing, you grabbed a fresh glass of wine, the last going sour from the interaction. Mor’s head leaned to yours unceremoniously, “Mother, that’s the fifth one in the last hour! How often does this happen?”
“Any time Azriel isn’t with me. When he’s accompanied me in the past it stopped a lot of this for the most part. But with my reputation among the courts here and abroad, anyone will try to get their claws into the person holding the most honey pots.” You were feeling the effect of it much sooner than ever before, the mental strain making your mind lag. You’d really hoped Azriel would have been here tonight, but you couldn’t lean on his strength every time.
“That’s why you’ve been bringing him along…” something seemed to click with her. “You know he hates these things. But you wanted him here for support, for you.” You nodded without hesitation, confused as to why her face seemed so stricken by the knowledge.
“There’s something I have to tell you” Mor’s tone was sullen. As she explained, you listened and felt anger wash over you in gulfs. Oh, you were going to murder someone, and soon.
The following weeks after Azriel had admitted his feelings to you were…odd, to say the least. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. you had been the same as ever to him, loving and oh so understanding when it came to his every need. You didn’t press him to attend the gatherings you had to, opting to inform him instead of your departure. While you were gone, he would catch up on all the paperwork he had waiting, and by the time you came home, his arms would be open and waiting for you to fall into.
But something was still off. He felt it in the way your shoulders slumped more than they usually would after socialising all night. It was still taxing to you, but you had always smiled after when he had attended them with you. Now, you barely had enough energy to lift yourself from his hold, falling straight to sleep once he’d guided you to bed.
Those nights, when you’re too tired to tell him about your day, and instead just curl up against his side, Azriel thinks about the moments of when you’d first met.
Your connection to him was almost instantaneous, you’d follow him everywhere you could. The idle chatter you started with had eventually turned to long and deep conversations, sweeping him along into the early hours of the morning.
Your first kiss, when you’d found him after a more draining mission. You’d helped him bathe, nursing the tension from his back and mind with loving but firm touches to his skin. He’d turned to you in a burst of confidence and captured your mouth with his before he had anytime to think himself out of it. You’d melted into him almost instantly, and the rest had been a blur of tangled limbs and sheets.
The weeks after had been full of secret touches and longing looks, until Cassian had caught the two of you in a heated kiss after venturing to the kitchen for some late night tea. Always the one known for having loose lips, the whole house had known before Azriel could’ve knocked him unconscious, but you had laughed and squeezed his hand in reassurance, letting him know that you didn’t mind being claimed by him, if he were okay with you claiming him. No, he didn’t mind that at all.
Gods, he had been in heaven ever since. Having someone to come home to, to reach for in the long family dinner when before he had to watch the mated couples around him stare adoringly at one another. He now had someone to call his own, and he was so glad it was you.
But you seemed to be getting worse as the weeks rolled on, and he couldn’t quite understand why, until Rhysand pulled him into his office.
“She’s taking a leave of absence from her position.” Azriel’s world spun on the wrong axis as he processed the words coming from his brother’s mouth.
“She hasn’t spoken to you about this?” he shook his head, mind spiralling as to why you’d do something like this. You loved your job, more than anything. It gave you a purpose, something to give back to the world.
Cassian ventured in not long after, seeming to already know what was going on, “you’re not communicating again. Azriel, this is gonna really affect your-”
“Affect his what, Cassian?”
The three of the bristled at the sharpness of your tone. Azriel cast his gaze over you. Your eyes seemed darkened by a tiredness that hadn’t been there until a few weeks ago. Even your posture, always one to hold your head high, looked slumped against Mor and Feyre, who stood behind you.
“I was just saying that you both should talk a bit more about-”
“Oh, I’m sure you have a lot of comments on what me and my mate should talk about.”
Azriel stopped.
Everything stopped.
Your- your what?
You sighed, your admission seeming to go amiss amongst the thoughts swirling in you mind, but Azriel couldn’t comprehend how you’d said something like that so…so… casually.
“Azriel, Can I speak to Rhysand and Cassian – alone?” he didn’t feel himself answer, but Mor and Feyre seemed to understand and guided him into the hallway, where the three of them waited with baited breath to hear the onslaught you’d ensue. It wasn’t a secret, how much you detested some of the decisions they made in this court. Hels, you had even come to Eris’ defense more than once during the time of the alliance to put him on the Autumn throne. But this was different, and he knew it deep in his bones.
Mate. You’d called him your mate. But there was no bond. Nothing had snapped in all the time you had known each other. He loved you, infinitely. but that had been a choice you had both made in all that you had gone through, not for some fate woven between you.
“I know, it’s a lot to take in” it was Feyre, “I think we should sit down, get some tea while we wait until they’re finished.”  
So the three of them walked away from the voices on the other side of the door, and made for Feyre’s studio.
“You two need to butt out, now.” You were fuming, white hot rage consumed you as you looked to the grown males in front of you. But they weren’t acting like that, not in all the time you’d known them.
“You-you called Az your mate?”
Shit. Had you? Oh gods he was probably going insane with the thoughts in his head. No wonder he hadn’t answered you. How were you going to explain hiding something so profound from him for as long as you’d known each other.
“What of it.” you were snapping now. You don’t ever snap. That was your charm, ever the collected one, no matter what. But gods they had stuck their noses where it didn’t belong. And you detested it.
 The statement had seemed to shut the two of the up quite quickly, so you continued, happy for the lack of interruption. “I understand you’re looking out for Az; I do. But this is getting to the point where it’s ridiculous. Have you ever considered the weight in which Az holds your words? They’re like gospel to him.”
“We were just trying to help, nothing more.” You snorted as the High Lord’s words. Feyre and Mor have known of your secret since you met Azriel, but it seemed the two of them have truly kept it privy to your circle of three.
“Have you ever thought, for a second, that maybe sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong does more damage than good?” you were breaking now, the emotions you had welled up the past while cresting. “I wasn’t asking Azriel to those gatherings because I wanted him out of his comfort zone. Gods, I know he detests them.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I needed him. It’s not easy listening to fae ask about your hand in marriage while your mate sits happily at home.”
You took a breath as the two said nothing more. “I came here to tell you that my leave was because I was overwhelmed. It’s a lot sometimes, even for me. And I hadn’t gotten a lot of time with Az without interruption since we met. I was going to tell you both today, about… the predicament. But it seems I’ve let the cat out of the bag, claws and all.”
Gods, how were you going to explain this to him? You’ve kept him in the dark for months. He’ll never forgive you.
“We-acknowledge our misstep. We truly didn’t mean to hurt you, or Azriel. And for that I apologise, for us both.” Rhys’ face was sullen enough for your anger towards the two wash away, and you nodded. “Believe me, you’re not the one who’s hurt him.”
With nothing else to say, you made for the door. Cassian’s voice stopping you just as you reached for the handle, “Just, make sure you get him to listen. He’ll go into his head, and its not a good place.”
You nodded.
 “I know.”
There will be a Part II
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bluebeary-jay · 11 months
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That funny feeling
Joel Miller x f!Reader
Summary: pet names are something that's equally very easy and very hard for Joel (based on this request!)
Tags: established relationship, F-L-U-F-F, a grain of angst, idiots in love, a lot of overthinking uGH, mutual dumbassery, love deprived (& soft) Joel, i'm playing with the timeline here a bit, alsoo suggestive undertones hehe
Warnings: swearing and miscommunication, and nothing more ig
Word count: 3.6K
A/N: i'm finally feeling okay!! it took a while and i'm sorry for the wait. as always i hope you all will like what i came up with, and thank you again dear for requesting 💕
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One of the things you noticed during those first few months of being in a relationship with Joel – and one which probably surprised you the most – was his fondness for using endearments when he was addressing you.
He called you by many names – darlin’, sweetheart and baby were just a tip of the iceberg.
And you adored it. Every single one of them.
How could you not when those pet names sounded so precious in that low and gruff voice of his? When the fact that he chose to let you get a glimpse at his softer side made you feel so special? 
He clearly liked doing this, too – and, as you suspected, watching your reaction when you received them. The tug of his lips and that dimple you so loved were an indicator enough that he wasn’t doing it out of obligation or because it was somehow expected of him.
Another thing that surprised you was how casual he was about it. Having not been in a proper relationship before made you feel out of your depth here, but from what you gathered, neither was he. At least for some time.
And yet, he seemed to have no problem or reservations about addressing you this way. He started even before he kissed you for the first time. You suspected that back then it was his strategy to show you – without voicing his intentions out loud – how he felt about you. It worked, somehow (because how were you supposed to resist that southern charm of his?), and once you both settled who you want to be for one another, it was like a switch flipped inside him.
But instead of turning it off, it only amplified his new habit and added more love and tenderness to the tone of his voice when he was calling you pet names.
You certainly were not complaining – especially when Joel was muttering those sweet words in a raspy voice into your skin when you were just waking up, or whispering them in your ear when you were passing each other during the day, brushing his hand against your waist.
So it was probably no surprise that you wanted to return the favor. The longer you were with each other, the more you wondered about what it would be like to call Joel by one of those endearments he used for you. If he would smile, if his eyes would crinkle in that adorable way…
Something was stopping you, though. Every time you were in public and Joel wasn’t currently looking at you, you were reminded of what kind of man you thought he was before you actually got to know him. His expression, the look in his eyes and his very presence were so intimidating that it gave you a pause each time. You knew he was a sweet, loving soul inside and it wasn’t like he’d be offended by being called by an affectionate nickname, or like your relationship would spiral down because of that.
…right?
What you did know, however, was that Joel Miller was a caretaker. A giver. And you wanted to take care of him, too, to make him feel as loved and cherished as he was making you feel – something you hadn’t a clue if you were doing right due to your own inexperience.
So one day, while you were tending to horses in the stables – one of your responsibilities in Jackson – you finally decided to stop overthinking and just… do what feels right to you. You were two grown-ass people. If anything happens – but probably nothing will – you’ll talk it out like adults.
You got lost in your own thoughts as you absent-mindedly brushed the coat of one of the horses. Suddenly, your attention was drawn by the animal neighing loudly but before you could look up, two strong arms embraced you from behind and a pair of lips pressed themselves to your neck.
You squealed in surprise, and then burst into giggles, when you felt Joel’s beard tickling your skin as he planted tender kisses on your neck, going down to your shoulder.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.”
It was not morning, but you haven’t seen him at all today since he left very early to help Tommy and some other men build a new storage house near the main street. As usual, you planned on meeting him when you’re done in the stables, but you were more than happy that he chose to surprise you.
“Hi,” you giggled. You tried to turn around to face him, but Joel grumbled and held you tighter to his chest, so you settled for putting your hand on the back of his head in an awkward half-hug. “You have some nerve coming here after you left me so rudely in the morning.”
He let out a sound between a groan and a chuckle.
“I tried to say goodbye, but you were out cold.”
“You didn’t try hard enough, then.”
“Fine. Next time I’ll shake you awake.” He pressed his lips to your pulse, planting a soft kiss there, and then another one a little bit lower, murmuring into your skin. “But you wouldn’t do that either if you were me and had an angel in your bed.”
You blew a raspberry and shook your head, making him hum against your neck with a smile. “Too much?”
“Just a little.” You turned around in his arms, and he dropped his head on your shoulder. “How’s work going?”
The man sighed heavily.
“It’s goin’. But I swear to God, Tommy gets more insufferable the sooner due date is. He almost lost it when some of the materials went missin’.”
“Well, it’s understandable with a little Miller on the way,” you replied, ruffling the hair on the back of his head and making Joel give you the stink eye. You scrunched your nose at him teasingly. “Get that pout off your face, mister, and better start thinking about what we’re watching tonight. My place, right?”
“Mhm.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but then angled his head to the side. There was a distant shouting from the direction of the road and you could faintly hear Tommy’s voice among the noise. Joel took a deep breath and his warm eyes met yours. “Alright, I better go before he does somethin’ stupid again. I’ll meet you tonight after guitar practice with Ellie.”
“Don’t be late again or I won’t let you in this time,” you said sweetly and a smirk danced on his lips.
“You’re annoyin’, you know that?” Joel leaned in and gave you a quick kiss on the lips, and then a lingering one on your forehead. “I’ll be on time, promise.”
You smiled and pushed his chest gently, letting him know that he should get back to his brother. He laughed – this actual rare and heartfelt laugh of his, which reminded you yet again how much you loved him – and took a couple of steps back.
“I’m holding you to it, handsome. Now go.”
Joel started to turn around, but then came to a sudden stop as soon as he heard you. It came out a bit awkward because he was mid-step and his feet kind of tangled up together, making him stumble before he managed to catch his balance.
You snorted and tilted your head to the side to peer at him, but his face was unreadable, almost blank. Like that rare and genuine laugh from earlier wiped all the emotions out of him.
“Hey. You okay?” you asked with a playful smile, taking in his expression. Joel looked over at you but didn’t answer, and you raised your eyebrows. “Joel?”
He parted his lips, like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
Something wasn’t right. His sudden silence wasn’t anything new – one of Joel’s main traits was being untalkative, though it got better since you two started dating, so you were used to it. But this was different. In his eyes there was a look of… you honestly couldn’t tell if it was awe or hurt. But you’ve never seen an expression like this on his face before.
He still didn’t say anything. You started feeling uneasy, but tried to play it off.
“Or… I could swing by Ellie’s before you two finish and–”
“I gotta go,” Joel muttered suddenly. “I’ll… see you later.”
He turned to the exit, but you quickly went around him and blocked his way with a frown. “Hey, hey, hey, wait. I’m serious now, are you okay?”
Joel glanced at you again, but then averted his eyes almost immediately. You gave him a weird look when he turned his head, as if looking for someone to get him out of here, but then a grin spread across your face when you noticed…
“Is this… Are you blushing?” you asked quietly. Joel winced and your smile got even wider. “You are! Does that–”
“I really gotta go, dar–” he stopped himself and patted your arm in a slapdash manner, not meeting your eyes. “I’ll see you later, alrigh’?”
Before you had a chance to ask or stop him, he walked away quickly, leaving you behind.
Your shoulders slumped and the smile disappeared from your face.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
*****
He did not see you later.
In fact, you didn’t have a chance to talk to him at all that day.
Once you finished your shift, you went looking for him but Joel wasn’t at the construction site, nor could you find him anywhere in town. You tried asking Tommy and Ellie about his whereabouts, but while his brother was as clueless as you, the teen seemed suspiciously quiet, and the second you took your eyes off her, she disappeared as well.
He didn’t come to your house that evening, and as it turned out, didn’t have guitar practice with Ellie, either. You felt a little hurt by the sudden disappearance, but ultimately decided against going to his house and invading his space when he clearly needed it.
It wasn’t until the next day that you saw the man again, but you never got a chance to ask him about what happened.
Joel came unannounced to your house and – literally and figuratively – swept you off your feet, acting a little softer and more… well, handsy than usual, but still in his normal Joel-like fashion, as if nothing ever happened. He did apologize for disappearing but it also seemed like he was trying really hard to avoid talking about yesterday altogether. So eventually you let it go.
The only explanation you could come up with was that you scared him off. Maybe it was too soon, maybe he just wasn’t okay with it – whatever the reason, it was evident he didn’t want you to bring it up.
So you decided to respect his boundaries and let the topic go. At least for now.
*****
Almost a week has passed, and you didn’t call him that again.
And fuck, if Joel wasn’t dying to hear that word from you just once more.
What he felt in that millisecond in the stables was so sudden and new – this weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach when you called him ‘handsome’ – that he honestly was at a loss how to react. Yes, he panicked (he wasn’t proud of that) and then when you pointed out the traitorous blush on his cheeks… it overwhelmed him.
Avoiding you for the rest of the day was a cowardly thing to do, but he needed some time to think about his next move before he could face you again.
He screwed up, that much was obvious. Joel didn’t know how to fix it, but he did have an idea how to make you feel comfortable enough to maybe do it again. A chance for him to react accordingly this time.
So since then, he made sure to show and tell you more often how important you were to him and how much he loved you, even though he was dying of cringe at times. His efforts were rewarding, of course – your every smile, every look in his direction was considered a win and a blessing in itself – and it seemed you forgot about his freak-out from the other day.
But you didn’t try it again.
And Joel didn’t know what to do. He’d never ask anyone for advice (God forbid Tommy ever finds out how big of a deal it was to his brother), and talking it out with you seemed like the most unattainable and impossible idea in the world.
You continued calling him by his name – and he couldn’t exactly complain when his name sounded so fucking perfect in your voice – but hell if Joel didn’t wish you try something else.
It didn’t even need to be this ‘handsome’ one you used. Any stupid nickname you come up with, he’d revel in it and this time wouldn’t chicken out.
Jesus, he had it bad. It was almost pathetic.
It wasn’t a life-changing, world-moving issue, though, and Joel wasn’t spending every waking moment thinking about shit like that. There was still work needed to be done in Jackson, he and you still had your own lifes, and… days passed.
It was just over a week later, when Joel came back home from a late-night job to find you asleep in his living room, that he thought about it again.
His heart swelled with adoration when he saw your form curled up on the couch. You must’ve been waiting for his return, but neither of you expected his work to take this long.
Joel bent over and put one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your body, grunting at the pain in his back. You inhaled sharply when he picked you up, grumbling something incoherent.
“Shh, babygirl, it’s me,” he whispered soothingly, cradling you against his chest. “I’ll put you in bed. Or do you want to go back home?”
You made a noise of disagreement and breathed him in deeply, not opening your eyes.
“You’re late,” you slurred instead of answering him, nuzzling into his chest. Joel sighed tiredly.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” he whispered back. “The guys needed more help at the construction site.”
“Alright,” you mumbled again. “M’just glad you’re home now, honey.”
Joel’s feet stopped moving – gradually this time, not putting you at risk of being dropped – and he took a deep breath to tether himself before continuing his way to the bedroom.
You were asleep, he told himself while he was laying you down. It would be wrong to wake you and talk about it now. It could wait. He could wait.
Joel paused, then crouched at the head of the bed where he put you down, and delicately brushed some hair out of your forehead. His face was stoic, though those thoughts raged on like a hurricane inside his mind.
He had no idea how to do this. How to talk about this.
But he knew two things – he knew that his heart belonged to you, and that he didn’t want to settle for those pet names you accidentally muttered when half-awake, all because he was too much of a coward to admit what he wanted.
“Darlin’?”
“Hm?” you hummed, snuggling into his pillow.
Joel’s heart was beating so damn loud, he thought it was about to jump out of his chest. He took a grounding breath, brushing his knuckles against your cheek softly.
“Say that again,” he asked quietly in a raspy voice.
You made a face, keeping your eyes closed.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Joel swallowed hard and he was so nervous, he had to remind himself to unclench his jaw not to break all of his teeth.
Fucking Christ, he could take on the swarm of infected any day without losing his cool, so why was admitting stuff like this so damn difficult?
“Not now. Before. The…” he cleared his throat with embarrassment. His tongue felt like it was made of lead, and his face like it was shoved into a campfire, “pet name.”
That word finally got your attention. In a blink of an eye you were wide awake and lifted yourself on your elbows, rubbing your eyes. Joel almost regretted having said anything.
“Pet name?” you repeated, and then a shy, uncertain smile crept over your face. “Oh… I thought you said you didn’t like it.”
Don’t run, don’t you dare run now…
“I never said that,” he grumbled and furrowed his eyebrows, angry at himself that he made such a big deal out of it, that he had to talk about it now, a whole week later. You winced sheepishly.
“Well… Yeah, you didn’t, but the last time…” You sat up straight on the bed, rubbing your eyes again like you wanted to make sure you were entirely awake and focused for this conversation – which made Joel wishing even more that he had kept his mouth shut. “You ran off and I thought… I dunno, that…”
You shrugged, but you didn’t need to finish, for he understood how it must’ve looked.
Joel sighed heavily and put his forehead on your knee with fatigue. He felt your hands smoothing the shirt on his shoulders and back, and once again wondered what he did to ever deserve you.
“What do you say we don’t talk ‘bout this?” he proposed softly, feeling like a goddamn fool now. “Just… It felt nice. Good. And I want you to do it again… sometimes.”
“I want to talk about it, though.” You cupped his cheeks and lifted his head to look him in the eyes. A thought ran briefly through Joel’s mind about how fitting it was – he on his knees, looking up at you like the miracle you were. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Joel. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
“What do you think?” he whispered, looking away, though your hands kept his head in place. He raised one of his own to cover your fingers with his, keeping it there. “It’s… goddammit,” he swore and closed his eyes, squeezing your hand faintly. “It’s all just kinda new for me, too,” he said at last. “As dumb as it sounds.”
You swiped your thumbs over his cheekbones. “It’s not dumb.” He didn’t say anything, and after a couple of seconds you sighed. “Okay, we don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to. Just… maybe try to give me a sign next time,” you offered gently. “I don’t always know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
You were trying to lighten the atmosphere, bless your kind heart, and the corner of his lips tugged upwards despite the turmoil in his heart.
“Darlin’, that’s what I’ve been tryin’ to do for the past week. I’m not good at talkin’ but I… shit, I don’t know, I thought that if I start callin’ you like that more, it’ll… prompt you to do the same, I guess.”
At that, your hands slid off his cheeks and your face turned blank.
“Oh,” you breathed. Joel lifted his eyebrows in question and you added hurriedly: “I thought you were doing this to… I don’t know, let me know that you feel more comfortable calling me that than getting called…”
It was Joel’s turn to look at you blankly.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he whispered with disbelief clear in his voice. “I tried to somehow show you that it’s fine. Do you…” he paused when you slowly started to giggle, which soon turned into a fit of laughter at the tone of his voice. “Do you have any idea how embarrassin’ it was for me at times? And not once–”
He tried to sound accusatory, but your bright smile was too contagious and soon Joel was grinning, too. He covered the bottom part of his face with his hand, trying to regain his composure, and shook his head while muttering under his breath.
Then he felt your hands on both sides of his head again when you leaned forward and, still with that big, gorgeous smile of yours, started peppering his face in kisses. He tried to swat you away but it didn’t take long before he gave in to his fate.
After a couple of seconds of this sweet torture, you pulled back a little, leaving the tingly feeling of your lips all over his face.
“So, just to make sure. I can call you that?” you asked semi-shyly, though there was a mischievous glimmer in your eye, which made Joel smirk lopsidedly.
“Already told you, beautiful,” he murmured in a low voice, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone lovingly. “But nothin’ over-the-top, alright?”
“Alright,” you agreed, just as quietly, and then leaned in to kiss him lightly.
The suffocating coils of embarrassment in his stomach disappeared the moment you touched him. Joel decided that if suffering through those moments of vulnerability would end up with you in his arms and his lips on yours, he was able to survive them.
“Now come to bed, handsome,” you whispered against his mouth with a smile. Your voice had that downright sinful tone to it, which you knew was driving him insane. “I got cold waiting for you all alone.”
Little minx.
He gave you a smirk before crawling on top of you and scooping you in his arms. The sound of your laugh filled the room as he rolled both of you over, pulling you closer and onto his chest.
“Whatever you wish, sweetheart.”
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PROVE IT ───
jackson rippner ✧𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “You think you are possessing me / But I've got my teeth in you.” — ‘Unicorn’, Angela Carter
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pairing. jackson rippner x reader
summary. after breaking up with your boyfriend. you meet a handsome stranger at a bar. you tell him your cunt’s better than the girl’s your boyfriend cheated on you with; he tells you to prove it.
warnings. swearing, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, porn with some plot, impact play, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 3.6k
a/n. i seriously doubt i wrote jackson’s character accurately in this so please comment anything i can improve on LOL🙏
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It’s not often you spill your entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this one, this stranger with his watery blue eyes and plush lips, is oddly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It makes you want to give him everything, and absently, in your alcohol riddled mind, you think he’d make a good scammer. 
Or, serial killer, whichever he prefers really.
But it's not entirely his fault; you’re stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit your system ten-fold. 
You’re there because you’d broken up with your boyfriend the night before. You’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and you let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right? 
Wrong. He’d been cheating on you since he went to Copenhagen — four months, now — with a pretty little Dane that wanted to marry. 
You were furious when he told you, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but you began seeing all the differences between you and the woman he cheated on you with: she, a perfect homemaker, you, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month. 
“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” the stranger across from you said softly, breaking you out of your nostalgic stupor and back into reality. “‘cause he’s a right asshole. For cheating on you like that.”
The man had entered the bar hours after you did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the softball game on the bar TV, before you drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant your dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here you were now.  
You peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but you can’t tell if you actually think that, or your foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail you into next week. 
No matter, you thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of your throat sweetly, fire trailing down your insides. “M’not beating myself up,” you protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,” 
He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as are you.
“Well,” he inched closer, large hand sitting itself on your thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.” 
This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with you: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from your face, later he swiped a drop of drink off your lip, then he’d clutched you by the waist, pulling you close to him when someone squeezed past you in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in your ear. 
Then, there’s a gap in your memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt you donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in your ear was too much for your dizzy head, and the only thing you remember is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the next, you’re pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee pushing your quivering legs apart. 
You’re trading wet, messy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up your shirt till they reach your chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching your breasts needily. 
He’s kneading you artfully, fingers pawing at your flesh like he’s never felt something so soft, so plump. Your back arches as he does this; you’re practically putty in his hands. 
It doesn’t slip past you that you’re being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom you don’t know the name of, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg, his name coming up completely blank on your tongue, “please.”
“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, one of his hands moving from your breasts up to your jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to your neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”
You’re too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so you whine instead of answering, your weak fingers carding through his brown locks. 
“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”
His words make your cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes your core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to your problems all night telling you you’re just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got you all hot and bothered. 
“Please,” you beg again, more desperate than before, “I need you.” 
The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly. 
He had noticed how your legs clenched around his knee, how your breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how your fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch. 
You bit your lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you to press your face against the wall. 
One of his arms then draped across your shoulders, pinning you down and arching your back, hard, making your ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, and you could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face. 
He can’t be that big, right? It was just your drunk mind, making him feel bigger than you thought through his shorts. Plus, you hadn’t been fucked in over a month — you were probably just not used to it. 
Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something. 
However, these days, you’ve learned that you don't have the best intuition. First, with your boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently. 
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head straining to look at him behind you. Unconsciously, you shyly closed your legs at the sight of him. 
“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between your legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”
The two of you were flush against each other, and you could feel his hard length resting between your legs. Just that, just him between you, already had you trembling in anticipation. 
“Then fuck me already,” you bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, you were thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, you, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when your boyfriend made his routine visit. You were a loyal girl, alright, and your fingers never went as deep as any cock could.
But the moment for you to reveal your worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.” 
Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of your ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on your cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom. 
Your breath caught in your throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and you flushed. Thank god you were pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to your burning face. 
He’d spanked you, and you fucking moaned. 
“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of your panties. 
“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against you, your folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”
He slowly slid in and out against your folds, his cock just barely grazing your clit, and you swore you could have screamed. The way he was teasing you was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous. 
“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing circles on the skin of your hip. 
You let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” you squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked your tight hole. 
“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into you. 
“I came here to…” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground your thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“
Then, the loudest keen you’d ever heard tore out of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into your soaking cunt. 
He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching your knees buckle and your mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on your ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom. 
“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking you like that. 
But the way he insulted, complemented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had you shuddering; never in your life did you think such dirty words could make you so wet. 
You barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout your body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how your walls squeezed around his cock had you barely coherent, your face taut with pleasure. 
“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for you to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into you, and another helpless groan rolled off your tongue. 
“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing you against the wall shifted, now covering your mouth. 
Before you could protest, he slid out, then snapped into you. Immediately, you saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past your lips. 
“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little fuckhole’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast you could barely comprehend the ecstacy you were feeling. 
“Oh my god,” you barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of you relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for your moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into your sweet cunt. 
Then, the both of you heard the bathroom door open, and you froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and planting you on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on your mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from your throat: this new position of you on his lap had his long length pressed right against your cervix.
“Now you really gotta be quiet, honey,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck. You shut your eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting your mouth. 
“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on your shoulder, laying his head on your back. 
The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips and help you slide up and down on his cock.
Your eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” you said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving  your mouth, but you were completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure you felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on. 
“Shh,” was all you saw him say, as you strained your neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.
Without his hand to muffle your groans, you muffled them yourself, biting down on your tongue. One hand of yours gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep your balance, and your other hand sneakily traveled down to your wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at your clit. 
He noticed this, however, hand gripping at your wrist and pulling you back to pin your arm behind you. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”
You let out a shaky exhale at his words, but you found your cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of your skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did you really get more turned on by what he’d said?
Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside you exited the bathroom entirely, and you belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked you up and pressed you against the wall once more, this time facing him. 
He plunged his big cock into you like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into your hips you swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into you, not even a fucking meteor. 
You, on the other hand, were arching, the pleasure taking your body over completely. Your hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into you. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time. 
Your tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like you were made with his fat length in mind, and it drove you up the fucking wall: the pain in your hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and your orgasm began to spill out from under you. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.
“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Your cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like you were afraid he’d never come back to you. 
You nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of your words. 
He grinned, and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into you. Your toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past your slick folds. 
One of his hands lifted off your hip and trailed across your lower stomach, “Can you feel that, honey? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge. 
Both of you were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and you a feverish mewl. You couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on you from the outside. 
Suddenly, you remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before you dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, under the name Jackson. 
You face grew taut, your orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across your face. “Jackson! Jackson, please,” you moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on your tongue. 
“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged you through your orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core. 
It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within your insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout your entire body like you weren’t already being fucked relentlessly. 
“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning into rest his head against your chest. You were weak, sensitively riding out your high, but you knew Jackson wasn’t quite as close. 
His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling your walls against every inch of him. Your head rested beside his own, your eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation. 
Despite your orgasm, your cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both your skirt and his pants. It made you tremble, thinking of you two tiredly exiting the bathroom, disheveled and having to cover the other up. 
At this point, you didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting your mouth, with Jackson’s grunts and groans covering up your whines completely.
“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”
“You do! Jackson does!” You exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of you quicker and more jolted. “Jackson owns this pussy!”
Jackson grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within you. He clenched his jaw, piercing blue eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of your cunt squeezing him for every drop. 
You were so fucking full, and even when Jackson pulled his softening cock out of you — which, was still huge despite its idleness — you felt stuffed to the brim. 
His come dripped down your leg, and he promptly pulled your panties up, patting your worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good honey.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to your neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”
“Told you so.” You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking you to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within your own, clasping tightly. You didn’t really mean round two - though, you wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking you - you actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead you.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through you cheekily, pulling you close to him. 
So, you did go home with him, and in the morning you laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, counting the freckles on his face.
His eyes fluttered open when you shuffled. “Were you watching me?” he said, voice low and sleepy. 
You nodded silently, your hand coming up to pet his skin comfortingly. After a beat passed, you asked the question that was bothering you all morning. “Jackson, you wanted to fuck me first, right?”
He blinked, tense for a moment, before smoothing out his expression. “What?” he opted on saying instead, sounding every bit clueless and entirely convincing.
Not convincing enough for you, however. “Baby, you think I didn’t notice the shots you were calling over and inching toward me? I was drunk, not stupid.”
“Are you saying I took advantage of you?” He said darkly, a side of him otherwise unknown to you ‘till now. 
You raised a judging brow. “No need to be offended. I wanted to see where it was going to go: ‘did the handsome stranger want to fuck me, or did he want to kill me?’.”
He pulled you close to him, his arm snaking around your hips. “So, what are you saying?” he said, pressing a patronizing kiss to your forehead. 
“Hm. Well, I jus’ wanna know if this is a one nightstand.”
“And you don’t care about the - drinks, the “taking advantage” part?”
You let out a laugh. “I was confident, darling; I keep pepper spray and a pocket knife in my purse. Even if you did - which you didn’t - I’d make it out alive.”
Jackson bit his lip, looking up at you. This had meant to be a one night stand, considering the job he had, but you were looking at him so sweetly, so accepting, like you secretly knew what he did for a living and wanted him despite it. 
“Not a one night stand,” he murmured, leaning into your touch. 
You beamed, and, later, when you did find out what he did for a living, you merely cocked your head. Thought about it… outweighed the pros, the cons, (and the fact you were completely right: he was perfect, but also a fucking sociopath), and merely shrugged. 
“Honey, you’ll never do anything to me. Why should I care what you do for a living? Just don’t,” you warned, staring at him like you could and would fucking kill him, “cheat on me.” 
You didn’t have the best intuition. And, as it turned out, a great moral compass, either. 
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pshcomforts · 2 months
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➳ mad | psh.
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non!idolsunghoon x fem!reader
“we’re fighting this war, baby, when both of us are losing”
synopsis: in which, you and sunghoon have an argument that leads to you guys distancing for a bit.
warnings/content: angst to fluff. written in third pov. hoon’s a little possessive.. and he gets drunk later. mentions of alcohol. reader and hoon are both petty and stubborn. not proofread (i’m sorry if it’s bad). cursing! i think that’s it but lmk!
comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)
word count: 5.0k
a/n: fictional characters — dae (jungwon’s partner), min-su (heeseung’s partner), and ji-woo (jake’s partner).
༘˚⋆𐙚。masterlist⋆.✧˚
current song playing: mad by neyo
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
1:36 ──────|───────────── -2:37
keys aggressively landed on the floor as sunghoon dropped it in rage.
“you’re really making a big deal out of this?”
y/n rolled her eyes in annoyance. “yeah, i am because what you did was uncalled for.” she folded her arms, almost in disbelief of how he was acting.
“i pushed him off of you, y/n. you should honestly be thanking me.”
her brows scrunched together — “he’s my friend sunghoon. he wasn’t even close to me.”
he let a scoff slip by his lips in a moment of doubt. “yeah, he sure seemed like it with how close his body was pressing up against you.”
she squinted her eyes at his words. “okay lose the fucking attitude because i’m not having it.” he sent a glare at the girl, close to burning holes as he began to grow irritated.
“you don’t know the intentions of guys y/n.”
“he has a girlfriend, sunghoon!”
hoon poked his tongue out through his cheek as he rolled his eyes — face becoming stern within each second.
“guys still cheat on their girlfriends.”
y/n scoffed, shaking her head as her heart grew heavy. “his girlfriend is my cousin, hoon.” she stopped to think carefully with her words — “look, i love you okay? and as much as i enjoy seeing you jealous, it’s not a healthy trait for you to keep doing this.”
“keep doing what?” he gritted with his clenched jaw.
“hoon…”
he shook his head and turned his back against her. “fine, you want me to not protect you anymore? got it. done. i’ll act like we’re not even in a relationship if that’s what you want.”
✩ ‘now as i’m yelling over her’ ✩
y/n’s heart shattered within seconds before letting the irking feel wash over. “you’re really gonna be fucking petty about this?”
“if that’s what you want,” he bluntly said with shrugging shoulders. his back still faced her as he couldn’t have it in himself to look at her.
“i can’t believe you’re acting so stubborn right now.”
“he was close to you, how do you expect me to not act the way i am?” his jaw tensed when he thought back to the vision of seeing y/n and her guy friend near each other.
“we’ve been friends for a long time sunghoon, and he wasn’t even as close as you thought he was.” she narrowed her eyes at his back, crossing her arms as the events from tonight started to drain her.
“he’s probably just waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and catch you.” hoon mumbled with an obvious scoff.
silence easily took the room as y/n stayed quiet, not wanting to give a response for a second.
“are you serious? like, are you actually really fucking acting like this right now?”
✩ ‘she yelling over me’ ✩
sunghoon finally faced her, his gaze darkened as his eyes darted at her. he was upset, and so was she.
“how else do you want me to act?” he spoke, voice almost absent in the moment as his throat needed to be cleared.
she rolled her eyes, swiping her tongue through her teeth as she spat — “you’re really unbelievable.”
“yeah i bet you’ll quote that to him soon when you tell him what happened.”
✩ ‘all that that means is neither of us is listening’ ✩
her eyes were filled with betrayal. and after betrayal, came pettiness. the doubt that was taking over their relationship increased as soon as the words left his mouth.
✩ ‘but we won’t let it go for nothing’ ✩
“fine, you want me to go tell him? i will.” her hands swiftly reached for her jacket she threw off when she got home, shoes already intact as her feet quickened for the door. the burdened girl felt a sudden tug on her arm, knowing that her boyfriend was trying to pull her back.
“don’t leave.”
“talk to me when you’re no longer feeling petty. i don’t want to hear your stupid comments right now,” she spat out — pulling her arm back with a cold shoulder.
“it’s dark and it’s unsafe, it’s better if you stay here y/n.”
“honestly, hoon? i don’t want to be under the same roof as you right now.” the girl put on the last piece of her warm clothing and left. she was tired and she wanted to sleep but not when her boyfriend was being unreasonable.
sunghoon fucked up. he was a naturally possessive guy with his girl but he took it too far this time, and he knew that.
he groaned out a heavy sigh, taking his seat on the couch as he finally processed the fact that they’d just gone through an argument.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
hours passed and y/n was still gone.
truth be told, she never went to her male friend’s place. of course not. they were close, but she wouldn’t dare to do that to sunghoon — no matter how pissed she was at him.
so instead, she slept over at ji-woo’s. more specifically, ji-woo’s and jake’s.
“you sure everything’s okay with you and sunghoon??” her friend questioned with a concerned look.
y/n’s lips pushed together into a firm line, showing that she was a little unsure about the answer herself. “i don’t know honestly… i can’t tell who’s in the right this time..” her head drooped down in guilt as she replayed the cruel words she said to him before leaving.
“it’s not your fault y/n, he was a little out of bounds this time but you guys should still talk it out.”
“yeah, it always works for my girl and i.” jake chimed in, flinging his arm around ji-woo.
y/n’s face scrunched in disgust — “ew.. well, you know that sunghoon’s pretty stubborn..” her eyes tilted up to look at her boyfriend’s best friend who was dating her friend. he let a gentle smile play on his lips as he only nodded in agreement.
“you are too, y/n…” ji-woo added on, giving slow rubs on her boyfriend’s hand.
“you’re not making the situation any better but thanks.. bitch.” she rolled her eyes before shaking her head, earning a gasp and a laugh from the couple in unison.
“i’m sure you guys will work it out soon,” the dimpled girl said, giving a light kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek afterward.
“ew you guys make me want to be single..” y/n replied, face still scrunched in disgust.
jake awkwardly laughed, holding onto his girlfriend as he heard her yell — “shut up! just go to sleep!”
the couple returned to their bedroom, leaving y/n behind before the loud voice of jake boomed out, “and check your phone y/n! sunghoon’s been blowing up mine so i’m sure he is for you too!”
the girl raised her brows, turning her head to her phone on do not disturb. she clicked the screen and found the device to be flooded with texts from various group chats, and him.
hoonie 🤍:
You okay?
Did you really go to his place?
Oh I just saw you’re with Ji-Woo and Jake. Did you get there safe?
I’m sorry for taking it too far
Please come home 🫂🫂
Good night gorgeous, I miss you ❤️‍🩹
y/n grumbled out a groan, debating on whether to text him back or leave him on read. before she could decide, she received a text from her friend’s group chat.
jungwon’s bae 🩶:
YOU BETTER TEXT HIM Y/N!
JI-WOO MAKE SURE SHE TEXTS HIM
hoon’s gf <3:
and what if i just leave him on read!
jungwon’s bae 🩶:
BITCH
He keeps blowing up Jungwon’s phone
Tell him to stop!
hee’s fav 🤍:
he’s fucking blowing up heeseung’s too
hoon’s gf <3:
and you guys are too with mine!
hoon and i are.. fine…
jungwon’s bae 🩶:
BITCH
Omg stop lying!
Where’s Ji-Woo???
hoon’s gf <3:
HAHAHA
she’s with jake so she’s most likely asleep!
as should all of us so good night losers!
y/n quickly shut her phone before she could get a response from them. she sighed in defeat, truthfully wishing she was in sunghoon’s arms as she remembered the fact that ji-woo and jake were most likely cuddling in the next room over.
‘i miss you’ she thought to herself, giving a soft pout as she reminisced when he’d be clingy and not want to let go through the night.
she gave another sigh as she picked up her phone, ignoring the texts received from the recent group chat as she responded back to sunghoon.
hoon’s gf <3:
i’m okay
we’ll talk soon, night
hoonie 🤍:
I miss you with me
y/n rolled her eyes as a grin started to show on her face without even realizing it. “whatever..” she mumbled to herself, not even giving a reply as she felt her heart thump out of her chest.
as the thoughts of her boyfriend lingered in her mind, so did the argument. they bickered time to time, but usually things worked out in the end. this time though seemed a little more different, but she was sure they’d make it through — just not right now.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
a few days had gone by since their quarrel, and y/n remained to still be at ji-woo and jake’s place. she couldn’t face sunghoon just yet, knowing that he would most definitely still be petty about it. she would too though, which is why she avoided him for the time being.
bright shades of orange colored the sky as the day cracked on sunset. it was only ji-woo and y/n in the house — jake left to go drink with his friends, which included the rest of the enhypen members.
as the two girls were preparing dinner, a sudden ring call was made from ji-woo’s phone.
“hello??” she yelled out with an eyebrow raise — “jake?”
y/n slowly eased in on listening to the conversation without even realizing as she tried to mind her own business.
“what??? i can’t hear you jake! sunghoon??”
y/n’s head quickly shot up at the name. her boyfriend??
“y/n? oh, she’s right here.” ji-woo nudged the girl’s arm while uttering out, “jake said that sunghoon wants to talk to you.”
“what?”
“apparently you’re not picking up his calls and he’s kind of drunk so.. take it.” she gestured her hands closer to y/n. she sighed before taking the phone.
“hello?”
“y/n, that’s you right??” jake yelled out on the other side of the phone, his words being slightly slurred out.
“yes… why’d you ask for me? is sunghoon okay?” she mumbled, feeling a little uneasy in her tone. a few seconds passed and it was obvious that her friend’s boyfriend didn’t know how to respond back. “jake?? hello?”
she turned to ji-woo who was still focused on dinner, eyes laced with concern as she heard her call out her boyfriend’s name.
“y/n?? is that my gorgeous girl on my friend’s phone?” sunghoon’s voice suddenly slurred out. she heard him give a soft chuckle that sent butterflies to her stomach.
“hoon.. you’re drunk aren’t you?” she said with her brows furrowed.
it was like he could hear how upset she was as he replied, “just.. a little…….. sorry, angel.”
y/n scoffed a little, even though she felt her heart flutter at the nickname. “are you serious sunghoon?” the distress of hearing his drunken state got to her as she exhaled a heavy sigh.
“i’m sorry…”
almost immediately, the phone caught onto the shuffling movements of hands as hoon’s voice could no longer be heard.
“hoon???”
“sorry y/n, he was fighting for the phone to hear your voice. he’s kind of.. uhm sad but if you could just come though, it’d be great…” jake suddenly intervened. y/n caught hold that he took the phone as he gave a chuckle afterward — “oh! and bring my girl too, i think she might need me to drive me home.”
a few other voices mixed in the background that y/n couldn’t quite grasp onto — only for jake to talk in her ear again. “actually, could you bring min-su and dae too?? heeseung and jungwon are begging for them after hearing that you and ji-woo are coming.”
the girl on the end gave an exasperated sigh while rolling her eyes. “you guys just had to drink…” she mumbled before turning to her friend who was still chopping vegetables for dinner. “here ji-woo, ask your boyfriend for the location. we gotta pick them up.”
ji-woo’s face scrunched in confusion — “pick them up??”
“just take the phone and talk to your boyfriend.” she shoved her hand that had the phone to her friend before leaving to put her shoes on.
soon after, the girl in the kitchen hung up the call and approached the front door where y/n stood.
“apparently, they took your and hoon’s car so you have to drive it back when we get them. did you text min-su and dae?”
“just about to,” y/n responded. the two left out the door soon after gathering their necessities.
hoon’s gf <3:
the boys drank and they want us to pick them up
get ready @everyone
i’m with ji-woo so meet us there, min-su and dae!
hee’s fav 🤍:
what the fuck
i knew my hee was drunk
jungwon’s bae 🩶:
Omg!
No wonder Jungwon was drunk texting me
hoon’s gf <3:
LMAO just get ready 😭
minutes passed and the group had finally arrived to the scene of their boyfriends. min-su and dae came with their own cars after realizing the members carpooled in the vehicle owned by sunghoon and y/n, and another by sunoo.
they walked into the restaurant together with head shakes and heavy sighs to the sight of each boy in a drunken state. well, most but niki. the youngest was drinking lemon lime soda while giggling at how each member was acting.
“wow you guys actually came?” he snorted, downing another cup of the refreshing soda.
y/n shook her head in disappointment while searching for her boyfriend. she soon found him laying on jake’s shoulder, his arms clinging onto him as his cheeks flushed with a bright red. out of all of the members, it seemed like he was the most drunk.
jake softly shook the boy while mumbling — “hoon, your girlfriend is here.” the boy blinked his eyes before sitting up straight to see y/n in front of him.
“no, my girlfriend is mad at me. she wouldn’t ever want to come pick me up,” he sulkily said with a pout.
y/n softly smiled as she went closer to him, hands reaching for his hair to catch his attention. she let it run through the silk strands as his face scrunched together.
“oh! who is this pretty girl??” sunghoon mumbled, giving a bright eye smile as he grinned ear to ear.
her lips automatically curled into another smile as her eyes softened with love. “hey hoonie,” she mumbled only for him to hear.
it didn’t help though as he shouted, “HOONIE? is this really my girlfriend???” he flung his arms around her neck to pull her into a hug. his face plastered on a huge smile as he felt relieved to finally be in her presence again.
the name call that could be heard throughout the restaurant caused their friends to turn heads.
“uhm ew!” min-su yelled out as she held onto a stumbling and blushing heeseung.
“they’re making up, baby! leave them alone,” her boyfriend retracted back to her, leaving quiet giggles in the air as she tried to calm his asian glow down.
“they’re finally talking again,” jungwon chuckled with a head shake. “that’s a good thing huh babe?” he comforted his head closer to dae’s neck as he remained to be smiling.
“just keep resting wonie,” dae mumbled while petting his hair.
the drunken boy returned the hair pets as his hand went to dae’s curly hair, messily fluffing it as he beamed a smile. his dimples went on display while the younger male started to giggle from his act. he was more clingy than usual with the alcohol in his system but his sober boyfriend didn’t mind.
jake and ji-woo laughed together as his hands clung onto hers, forcefully intertwining as he planned to not let go of hers. the boy was drunk, he just wanted to be in his girlfriend’s arms.
“he was talking about you all night.” niki, the most sober one, snorted as he took a bite of his food. “seemed like he needed this more than any of us.”
y/n turned her head to niki — “did he really?”
“yeah, he was stressed about the fact that you guys fought.“
“you guys should really make up. i cant afford to drink alcohol every week.” jay retorted with a smile afterward.
the girl shook her head before responding — “well we’re here now so we’ll be taking our leave.” she softly patted her boyfriend’s arm, only to earn a head shake on her shoulders.
“let’s just stay here..” sunghoon beamed with a sloppy grin on his face.
y/n rolled her eyes — “okay we’re definitely going.”
“us too. come on, baby.” said min-su who was already dragging heeseung up on his feet.
the four couples stood up, each enhypen member propping themselves up on their partner as they felt the ground to be unsteady.
“will you guys be okay driving home?” y/n asked with her brows knitted together.
“us? yeah for sure, niki didn’t drink so he can drive us home.” sunoo responded while being slightly slurred with his words.
“you sure niki??”
“we’ll be fine, i’m a good driver.” niki said, giving a laughing scoff afterward.
y/n rolled her eyes before nodding her head. “okay fine, just.. drive safe please.”
the group sectioned themselves off — the couples going off in their own cars as the remaining three went in sunoo’s car with niki being their designated driver.
“you guys will be fine right??” y/n asked to her friends.
the three nodded in response. “of course we will, jungwon’s the drunk one, not me!” dae defended with a smile towards his boyfriend.
“hey!” won yelled.
his boyfriend shrieked out a laugh at his reaction. “i’m joking! i’m joking!”
“okay.. we’re leaving.” min-su hurriedly said with a disgusted expression.
“drive safe!” ji-woo shouted to the couple. “you guys be safe too!” she pointed at y/n and dae.
the two nodded before returning to their cars.
“let’s go home, sunghoon.” y/n softly murmured to him.
“don’t you mean hoonie???” he loudly questioned, eyes still squeezing shut with his shit eating grin.
she scoffed in a playful sense as she nudged his head. “shut up and close your eyes..,”
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
throughout the car ride, sunghoon honestly fell asleep while she drove. she didn’t mind it though. talking to him while he was in a drunken state wasn’t ideal so she kept quiet.
when the two had finally arrived home, his arm clung around her neck to stable himself. the apartment was quiet, almost empty as the burdened presence of her filled every cracks of each room.
“god, you’re really heavy.” y/n grumbled with a groan.
sunghoon let out quiet words that she couldn’t comprehend, so she excused it as they finally arrived to the bedroom.
she pushed herself off of him so he could forward into the cushioned bed. “finally,” she groaned out, back area in pain from his tall body towering over hers.
the bed was neatly done. her side of the bed was obviously untouched as she hadn’t been home in days. with her absence, hoon couldn’t have it in himself to take up the remaining space that was always for his girlfriend.
when his body finally hit the bed, he whined out a groan that emphasized how tired he was from the alcohol.
“good night hoonie..,” she softly mumbled, feeling her heart already give in just at the sight of him. she gave faint rubs on his hand as she admired how sleepy he looked.
everything from his facial features had her heart thrilled with a warming feeling to the gut. his hair was messily laid out, and his eyes were gently resting so easily. his clothes were softly scrunched and ruffled, baggy almost with how he landed onto the mattress.
after admiring how gorgeous he looked, y/n decided it was time to let the boy sleep — so she turned away from him, prepared to take leave from the room. she was honestly still mad at him, and wanted him to least be sober when they finally met after their argument. but he wasn’t, so she thought it best for her to spend the remaining night on the couch.
as she reached out for the door, she felt a sudden pulse of his hand kick in as it wrapped around her wrist. the tug shocked her.
the girl opened her mouth to speak but sunghoon had beat her to it — “don’t go.” he refused to let her leave as his grip became stronger. he was scared.
✩ ‘girl i don’t wanna go to bed (mad at you)’ ✩
her face contorted into confusion. “i thought you were asleep?”
“please don’t go,” he mumbled — ignoring her words as his brows scrunched together. “i want you here with me.”
✩ ‘and i don’t want you to go to bed (mad at me)’ ✩
y/n pressed her lips to form a line as she said, “go to sleep hoon.” she tugged her hand back and he let her, most likely from being a little too drunk to do anything else.
she wanted to stay with him and be in his warming arms, but they were still going through an argument. so she turned off the light and situated herself on the couch soon after.
it wasn’t comfortable, but at least she was home.
after a few more minutes of being on the phone, the girl drifted herself off to sleep. her back faced the open side of the couch as she knocked out.
when hours passed, a pair of arms had suddenly wrapped around her body and embraced her into a back hug. it was sunghoon. he groaned out a sigh of relief as he let his arms cling at the waist.
it had probably been a little past midnight when the male found himself next to an empty space on the bed. he frowned before finding his girlfriend on the couch.
his chin softly laid on top of her head from his height. the cold hands that belonged to him most definitely awoken her when she grumbled out a confused whine.
“hoon..?” her hand reached out to the back of her, finding its place in his hair as he gave a faint chuckle in the silence.
“told you not to go,” he mumbled next to her ear, sending shivers down her spine as his arms pulled her closer to his embrace.
✩ ‘but baby, can we make up now?’ ✩
“don’t sleep without me, it feels lonely.” his hands soon found its way to her hands, placing it over hers as he squeezed her tighter. “haven’t been able to sleep without you here.”
✩ ‘cause i can’t sleep through the pain’ ✩
his warm hold finally made her feel like she was at peace, like the empty feeling in the apartment simply vanished within the seconds they were together.
sunghoon lifted his head and removed one of his hands to move her hair that sprawled out on the pillow, placing a gentle kiss on her neck afterward. he breathed deeply on it before muzzling his head into her neck. he was home.
“hoon-“
✩ ‘we can fuss, and we can fight’ ✩
“i know you’re still mad at me and that’s okay, but can i just hold you like this? just for tonight? i’ve missed you..,” he whispered against her neck, voice trailing off at his last sentence with how weakened he felt. “will you let me?”
✩ ‘long as everything’s all right between us, before we go to sleep ’ ✩
the girl felt his grip get a little tighter, almost as if he was preparing for her to reject his request, but she didn’t. instead, her hands followed to where his were, which were between her waist and hips.
they overlapped and she rested hers on top of his, closing her fingers so she could reassure him back.
“of course, hold me every night” y/n croaked out.
she couldn’t see it but hoon’s lips were tugging on a smile. he moved a few hair strands out of her face before pushing his face closer to her neck.
she softly laughed at the touch, earning a low chuckle to be heard from him as well.
“that’s my gorgeous girl,” he mumbled in her ear again.
sunghoon let his arms hold onto her tighter as they both began to sleep in the presence of each other.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
when the afternoon light peeked through their windows, y/n had been the first to awoken from the two as hoon was still knocked out from the alcohol.
the space on the couch was tight with how they slept but she didn’t mind. well, maybe she did a little but it wasn’t a big deal with how much she had missed him.
she had to get up though. it was her daily routine to do a big stretch right after she woke up, and possibly go to the bathroom for number one too. so she did. her body rose up and she just couldn’t help herself to simply admire the boy in front of her eyes.
the pretty boy was sound asleep with his clothes he wore from yesterday’s outing. “so handsome..” she uttered under her breath, eyes being glazed with captivation.
“am i that attractive?” he said as his inner corner of his lips curling.
y/n’s eyes widened with shock. “oh shit i didn’t know you were awake..”
“your staring woke me up.” his eyes fluttered open as he gave a half smile to her, hair messy and out of place.
“sorry.”
“i should be the one saying sorry,” he refuted.
“that’s sweet hoon, but i really gotta pee so please move, you’re blocking the whole sofa.” the man gave a wide chuckle at her words before moving his long legs aside. she rushed out to the bathroom to do her business, returning back to see him sitting up with his thick brows scrunched together.
“you wanna talk now or should we talk later?” y/n awkwardly asked with an eyebrow raise.
sunghoon gave another grin at her words. god, he was smitten for this girl. “let’s talk now because i want to apologize.” before he could continue on, he quickly placed a warm kiss on her forehead when she sat down beside him.
“hoon!”
“i haven’t kissed my girlfriend in days. what do you expect me not to do??” he gave a shrug to his shoulders that had her rolling her eyes.
“stop distracting me!” the girl said with a firm tone, trying to sound composed. her cheeks betrayed her though as they brought a warm color.
“do i distract you?”
“sunghoon- are we gonna talk or do i have to ignore you again?”
“okay okay fine,” he sighed at her words. “i’m sorry y/n. i was jealous and i admit that. he wasn’t close to you, but i just hated the way he couldn’t stop whispering things to you.”
she watched his face start to slightly frown at the remembrance of that night, and she only laughed at it.
“it was wrong for me to say all of that when we were arguing and i wish i didn’t. i’ll always protect you,” he added on. “i just.. can’t help it. i always get the protective urge to keep you safe.”
his head was drooped low in shame, and it caused y/n to cup his cheeks for him to face her. “you’re so cute hoon.” she placed a quick peck on the lips before she continued, “i know you’re a possessive guy and i’m okay with that. there are just certain times where it gets taken too far and it feels like it won’t impact well on our relationship.”
“i know.. but-“
“look, i love it when you’re jealous. it’s funny and hot at the same time, but you seriously have nothing to worry about. my friend was just whispering into my ear because it was loud and he was trying to tell me what he was gonna get for my cousin’s birthday.”
sunghoon’s lips formed into duck shaped lips as he quietly whispered, “oh..”
“you’re adorable, loser. i’m sorry too, i know you’re just being protective.” she grinned ear to ear as she planted another soft kiss onto his lips. as she prepared to pull away, she felt his hands on the back of her neck pull her in again.
his lips curled into a smile as she became slightly shocked with the sudden tug from him. hoon placed his hand on her chin, smiling even more as she finally got the chance to pull away with how distracted he got.
“god hoon!” a loud smack was sent to the arms.
“i missed being with my girlfriend, can’t i just kiss her!”
“geez we don’t talk for days and you become this clingy,” y/n said with an eye roll.
sunghoon gave a light grin as he rubbed his bruised arm. “only for you,” he mumbled with an eye smile.
“whatever.. let’s just go get lunch.” she stood from the couch and grabbed her boyfriend’s hands.
“what if i just want to stay home all day with you?”
“i’d love that but you drank a lot, so you need to eat something.”
a few more push and pull from the arms were made until sunghoon finally gave in.
the two went out for lunch and talked about what they did in their days apart. they were okay, and better than ever after getting through an argument. nothing could ever separate the two from each other.
★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★
608 notes · View notes
forteafy · 7 months
Text
You Think, You Know | CL16 & CS55
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Summary: Some bridges are due to burn, whilst others are destined to mend. Charles wants to lead you into a traditional happily-ever-after, whilst Carlos is still adamant that he can always treat you better. Part 3 of ‘A House, A Home.’
Word Count: 11.3k
Warnings: angst, shouting, a lot of swearing, mentions of cheating and divorce. SMUT. Non-protected sex, oral (M&F receiving,) squirting, degradation, aftercare always.
Note: Thank you all so, SO much for being so patient with me. I really wanted this to be something special and I hope you all enjoy it. Please don't get mad at me because this one is emotional. A massive thank you to my biggest cheerleaders, @oconso, @formulaforza, @a-distantdreamer & @silverstonesainz - I love you all so much.
PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'
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You loved your sleep.
There was never too much that could wake you from your slumber. Currently, with the combined sensations of crisp sheets tucked across your frame, soft sunlight drawing through the transparent curtains of the bedroom and snug, strapping arms encircling your waist, it would have to be some form of miracle to awaken you.
The form of this came in the body pressed tightly into your back; smoothly, a pair of lips are drawn to your cheekbone, satin kisses being dropped against your skin. Was it possible to awaken to such a soothing interaction? Your face is drawn to the feeling, turning in his interlocked arms, the side of your face nuzzling into the cushion as your eyes meet the deep, dark pools of his. 
“Good morning.” Carlos whispers, joyful at your rise from shuteye. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there himself, simply basking in the pleasure of holding the girl of his dreams against his firm body. The man was constantly on a lifeline; each time you interacted with him, he’s certain it would be his last, that one day, you’ll be violently ripped from his arms and his heart. 
Suspended in thought, the Spainard is drawn back to reality with the glowing touch of your palm on his skin. Immediately, one of his arms draws away from your waist, resting his own larger hand atop of yours. You look alluring like this; sleep still decorates your eyes, hair tangled from the deep sleep, yet perfect in every sense of the word. 
“Morning.” You respond, allowing yourself to set your gaze upon his face for a little longer. It’s a sin, settling in your stomach at how that same face had lifted from between your leg’s mere hours ago, the remanence of your arousal ever-present atop his stubble. You were certain he had a mouth crafted by the angels, the way his lips had toyed with your most sensitive parts and the way they currently pulled into an enticing smile in the present. 
Two bodies, two souls were entwined in that bed; you weren’t too sure how long you lay there alongside him, reveling in one another’s morning appearances. All you know in that moment is Carlos is overtaking your mind, sprinting through every vein in your body. Every unanswered question from the previous night rendered numb as the man leant forward in your touch, his lips gaining space on your own. 
There’s a sudden, sharp buzz from the other room, causing you both to retract from one another, bodies deep in the king-size mattress. A chuckle leaves his own mouth, running a heavy hand across his face, heart still pounding from the sudden jump of sound in the silent apartment. Something in your heart told you that buzz was for you. Whining from the sudden loss of warmth, you remove yourself from the bundle of blankets and body heat, bare feet padding into his living room, aware of your mobile phone, resting atop of the counter. 
The device gave a heavy buzz once more before you had the realization to pick it up, the battery barely there. You absent-mindedly call out to the man in the bedroom, asking if he had a phone charger you could borrow for a little while. There's clutter from the other room, clearly trying to find a space for your own phone. Whilst that incurred, your eyes flickered across the darkening screen, skin turning cold upon reading the text notifications. 
02:51: Charles Leclerc
I’m in love with you.
02:53: Charles Leclerc
I’m so sorry she was there – I had no idea. She’s gone now, can I come and collect you? Where are you?
03:25: Charles Leclerc
Please let me know you’re safe as soon as you can. Can I come and see you in the morning, please?
08:47: Charles Leclerc
Good morning, my love. How are you feeling today?
Guilt washed through your stomach, not for the interaction you had shared with Carlos; Charles had done substantially worse to you for the past twelve months. No, you knew what it felt like to have no response from somebody you cared for, terrified for their well-being. Even when Charles hadn’t cared for you, you had still nursed him, waiting up for his return in the early hours of the morning. 
With the remainder of your phone battery, fingers fly over the keyboard. Did you want your husband to come and collect you, specifically from his teammates home? He was aware of your building friendship with the Spainard, even if it wasn’t entirely platonic. There wasn’t a huge choice; you especially didn’t want to demand or pry a lift off Carlos, especially after he had come to collect you so late the previous night. 
08:58: You
Good morning, I’m at Carlos’ place. I’d really appreciate a lift back to the house, if that’s okay. 
The message barely had time to send before it’s marked as ‘read’. Immediately, the blue speech bubble pops to the lower corner of your phone, signaling a response was being formed.
09:00: Charles Leclerc
You don’t need to even ask. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. 
Fifteen minutes was not enough time to conceal everything which had happened in the previous hours. Feet now cold, legs now littered in goosebumps, you’d scrambled back into his bedroom, the man now on his own feet, those damn gray jogging bottoms hanging on his hips, a visible outline ever-present. It took your entire soul to remain strong, knowing how tempting this man could become in a matter of moments. 
“Charles is on the way.” You state, suspecting that it would cease all his movements, and allow yourself to get ready for your husband’s arrival. Instead, he’d stepped closer to your frame, leaning his toned torso towards you, locking you in his muscled arms, hiding his face in the skin he’d licked and bitten across the previous night. His mumbles are incoherent, littering across your neck in broken Spanish. He’s saying something. Something you can’t understand but is undeniably a plea for you to stay in his arms. 
Carlos stays pretty much attached to you the entire time you’re preparing for your departure; his body is pressed against yours, littering kisses to the crown of your head whilst you brush your teeth. His scent is so dominating on the hoodie he insists you borrow, slipping that atop of your frame whilst pulling on the bottoms you had wiggled out of the previous evening. The man’s heart explodes upon seeing you bundled into his clothing, a possessive streak striking through his body and soul. 
When your bag is packed, face washed and phone charging, now on the counter of his kitchen, you spend the last few minutes waiting for your husband’s adamant arrival by bundling into Carlos’ side on his plush sofa. It feels entirely natural by this point; his arms encircle your waist, letting you lie against his sternum, soothing yourself to his naturally steady heartbeat. A snippet of your heart desires to take this sole moment and capture it for a lifetime. Safe. Warm. Happy. 
The moment is wafted away from you both with the sudden rapping of knuckles on the front door. Whining, your eyes trail on the Spaniard, focused as he presses a final, fleeting kiss to your temple, pulls himself up from the couch and paces towards the hallway. Your own ears strain to hear the latch lift of the front door, Charles praises for looking after you the previous evening falling over his lips, two pairs of footsteps drawing into the front room. 
Your husband, despite his usual god-like appearance, looked terrible. His hair pushed to the front, clearly in need of a wash and brush. His skin was rubbed raw, face bloodshot; clearly, he hadn’t got a single moment of sleep the previous night, still dressed in the clothes he’d traveled home in the previous night. Despite the heavy lids of his eyes, they still light up when falling onto you. 
“Good morning.” He gives you a smile, only you. You can feel Carlos’ disappointment, even if you can’t see his eyesight at that moment. A pocket-sized smile from your own lips is offered in return, pulling yourself up in that moment, reaching for your bag which remained on the floor, slipping into your soft sneakers.
“Are you ready?” You’d asked softly. Charles’ mouth opened, hesitating before he spoke. He was thinking clearly. 
“I just need to speak to Carlos quickly. Something…private.” He tries to explain his standings, tries to make you feel less awkward as he reaches for the car keys resting in his hoodie pocket. “Are you okay to wait in the car?” He asks softly. He feels in no power to demand your movements, yet he requires one private word with his teammate. 
Your eyes don’t bother to meet Charles, instead immediately flying to meet the dark ones of your unofficial lover. What on god’s earth was your husband about to ask, and why did he want to do it out of your earshot? The look that you give the man says a thousand words, asking if he needs you to stay, hold your ground against Charles. The warm eyes of him give everything you need, silently promising he could handle this man. An entire conversation through looks alone, a skill the two of you had developed so naturally. 
Silently, you take the keys from Charles’ outstretched hand, skin flinching when being pressed against the cool metal. You don’t so much as glance in his direction when you’re walking to the counter, picking up your phone and stuffing it into the pouch of your borrowed hoodie. When turning on your heel, you pace back to Carlos, pressing a surprising kiss to his right cheek, murmuring a ‘Thank You,’ just for his hospitality, of course. You had done all the thanking for the number of orgasms you were granted the previous night. 
The walk towards your husband’s car, the SUV rather than his identifiable Pista, your mind clouded, clotted with an array of questions. Why did Charles need to speak to Carlos alone? Was he aware of the relationship the two had been sharing for an undefinable amount of time? Who on earth was the blonde woman giving you a death stare as she walked up the pathway to the complex, red lips practically hissing at your appearance, storming past you within half a second?
When you turn back to take in her appearance from behind, a sense of sickness settles into your stomach. You’d seen the back of that blonde head before; not in person, but rather on a phone screen. Your phone screen, held between white knuckles as you’d watched the man you had begun to fall for wrap his arms around another woman's lips meshed in a private nightclub, unaware of the multiple cameras capturing their searing moment. 
That was the same woman, identical in her mannerisms. You felt your tummy curdle into pain, into your vague realization that the only reason Carlos had offered you a place in his home, and subsequently his bed that evening, was because he was trying to fill a void until she returned to the scene. Your stomach wanted nothing more than to empty its remaining content in sheer shock. Instead, you breathe deeply, unlocking the door to the car, climbing into the passenger seat and closing your eyes, relaxing into the plush leather of the upholstery. 
You’re not sure how long your husband takes, eyes growing heavy as you await his return. It’s only realized when the driver’s door clicks open, rolling in your seat to watch as Charles climbs into his own, a frown resting at the bottom of his face. However, it’s immediately vanquished when his eyes latch onto your own, grinning at your presence, so close to him. A warm hand reaches out, brushing over the back of your head, sheerly enjoying the comfort you radiated. He'd been lost without you for the past twelve hours. 
Your eyes begin to feel heavy again, though you’re determined to get through the car ride alert, even if the soft scent of his cologne and the gentle lulling tunes from the morning radio are drawing you back to your previous state. Instead, you think of that woman. No, not the mistress you had grown numb to; the blonde woman, the one pressed against Carlos’ chest and lips mere hours after you had been. The glint in your husband’s eye is telling as you go through your endless thoughts, he knows something. 
“The blonde lady going into Carlos’ apartment.” Your voice is completely out of pocket, echoing through the front of the SUV. “Who was she?” There’s no beating around with the question you had asked; there’s no trying to sugar coat what you needed to know. Charles knows it, too. He knows he can’t hide the truth from you, you’re too smart for lies and manipulation, a year married with a mistress had taught him that.
Instead, he emits a deep sigh from his lips, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel as he focuses on the road. “Natasha.” The name falls from his lips, he can’t meet your gaze, not when speaking about another woman to his wife. “She used to work for Ferrari’s PR but left just under a year ago. Carlos and her used to-“ 
“Date?” You’d cut him off without realizing, eyes widening when he’d shaken his head. 
“No, not date.” He responds. “They just had…a thing. Something.” He finished his train of thought, still not mentally ready to turn to you. In a comforting way, you were glad he hadn’t; Charles was unable to see the tears pooling at your lower lash line, the desire to rip off the hoodie now suffocating your body. You learnt in your heart that moment, you were apparently nothing special to Carlos. No, he had a thing. Something, with any woman who passed his way was as a wandering fancy. 
The tears decorating your eyes and desire to relax into the leather seat eventually overpowers your emotionally drained body, pulling you back into a slumber. 
You loved the sound of music.
A faint tune, one you were certain you’d never heard before lured through your ears, drawing you back to consciousness. You couldn’t remember getting home, let alone getting out of the car and tucking yourself into the comfort of your own bed. Groaning, you’d sat yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and stretching the twinge in your back simultaneously. 
The music wasn’t coming from your room; the sound was beautiful, you just needed to locate its source. Your feet twinge when they touch the floor, cool floorboards easing the temperature of your socks. Opening the ajar door to your bedroom, the music grows louder, sound clearly emitting from downstairs, your feet carry you to the staircase with no hesitation. However, when reaching the top of the staircase, eyebrows crease together in confusion, taking in your once-ragged appearance in the crystal mirror. 
Your hair had been braided, albeit not elegantly, but at least out of your face, something you did almost religiously before sleeping. Your attire had changed, too, once you were dressed in Carlos’ sage hoodie. Now, your body was engulfed by Charles’ charcoal jumper, sleeves too long but an entire comfort for your drained mind. Is this what it felt like, to be nurtured and cared for by your husband? The pit of your stomach felt airy; this had been everything you desired for so long. And yet, now you had experienced somebody else, despite the heartbreak, your mind was utterly torn. 
Music grows louder, your mind is suddenly focused back on its original target. With no hesitation now, you began to walk down the flight of stairs, noting your bag and phone resting by the front door. Even with as many notifications as you’d missed in your time asleep, priorities overtook, making your way towards the lounge, eyes transfixed on the figure by the French windows.
Charles Leclerc sat, comfortably and quietly, gentle fingers dancing over the keys of his piano. The soft lights of the room illuminated the figure, a tune you had never heard was fluttering around the open space. 
Of course, you had heard him play the instrument multiple times; during his time spent at the house rather than on the track, he remained transfixed, creating new songs, finding some way to pour every emotion into some kind of melody. You’d lost track of the times you’d come downstairs to get a drink, put the washing into the machine and had instead pushed your body into the doorframe, eyes fixed upon your husband as he created the most beautiful sounds. 
The last time you’d done that, his mistress had been present, leaving over the piano as Charles played her an elegant tune. When she had gone to lean over him, her own fingers wanting to press down against the keys, he’d rested a firm hand on her arm, insisting that she sit on the sofa and listen, instead. The sweet moments of silently viewing your husband had turned sour; you’d silently vowed that day you would never enter the room when he was playing again.
You’d broken that promise mere seconds ago, eyes transfixed upon your husband. You can feel the tension beneath his fingers, as if he’s trying to take the sheer thoughts of everything that had been embedded into his mind in the past twenty-four hours and mesh them into some kind of audible release. Underneath the layers of music, your footsteps can’t be heard as you hesitantly walk towards the end of the living space. His tune reaches a climax, but before the piano can take any more notes, you cough lightly, Charles’ hands ceasing in mid-air. Arching his body weight, he sees your frame standing next to his piano, eyes still sleepy from awakening mere moments ago. The breath catches in the back of his throat; did you always look so perfect in his soft jumpers?
“I’m sorry.” He eventually offers, taking in your sweet, soft appearance. “Did I wake you?” 
“No, no.” The reply tumbles from your lips before you even realize. “It was…beautiful, actually. Is it a new piece?” You ask, entranced by the music which had been flowing freely.
“I’m not sure yet.” He can’t help but smile at the end of his sentence. “I just sort of started playing and this is what came of it.” The explanation is valid; like many creatives, sometimes a free flow form was the simplest way to go. His next movement is almost a shock to your system. “Why don’t you come and help me?” The offer is completed when he shuffles up on the piano stool, patting on hand on the available gap. There’s hesitation in your movement, before his hand trails upwards, leaning to clasp one of your own, guiding you towards the stool. 
There’s an overpowering smell of his cologne, a scent you were slowly drawing yourself towards. The body heat from his frame radiates into your own. Shyly, you reach out, pressing down on one of the piano keys, a tone spouting from the instrument. Charles can’t help but smile upon your interaction, eyes questioning as you analyze the instrument.
“Do you know how to play?” He asks gingerly, watching as you shake your head in response. His actions exchange, resting one of his warm palms over your own. The next moments are filled with your husband guiding your hands over the piano, teaching you the tune to old nursery rhymes. When you reach the end of the piece, he cheers in delight at the achievement. 
“Play me something now.” You ask carefully, head becoming heavy, heavy enough to rest on your husband’s shoulder. When you feel his body tense, you immediately sit back up, convinced you’ve overstepped a line. That thought is soon relinquished when Charles’ hand flies out, wrapping around the back of your head and pulling you back down to his shoulder, your breath hot on his neck, it’s enough for him, hesitant to overstep the boundaries you were adamant upon currently. 
His fingers move back, continuing the song he had been conducting earlier. The piece had started out slowly, almost sad-like, before building, building towards a romantic counterpart. In his mind, it was the perfect song to punctuate the relationship he maintained with his wife. They both sat there, barely any moment as the music was the only sound present in their house. 
When the song finishes, neither of you move, relishing in the soft touch you’re both sharing. Charles’ own head falls atop of your own, letting his cheek rest against your hair. There’s no form of time between you both, simply enjoying being alive, alive with one another. It’s interrupted when you feel Charles’ take an exaggerated breath, removing his keys from the piano. One of his hands rests upon his side, the other slides between the minute gap between you both, wrapping a toned arm around your waist. The movement causes you to lift yourself from his firm shoulder, catching those beautiful eyes from your glance. 
“I’m traveling to Monaco tomorrow.” He says it so casually, as if it’s as normal as entering or leaving the building. You can feel his heart race in anticipation of what he was due to say, his body temperature raising dramatically, radiating through his hoodie. You offer him a warming smile. You really didn’t want him to leave, not when you were growing so unnaturally fond of his presence. 
“Oh really, what for?” Is the eventual reply. In this moment, you simply can’t hold his eye contact, he’s staring into your soul, it’s as if he can sense every thought which is currently trekking through your mind; does he know how much of a hold he has on you, even if your marriage was entirely staged, at least in his eyes. 
“I’m off to see my mother” He clarifies. “It’s been a while and I just want to check in.” It’s a lie. You can tell from the way his body language changes; his hands are suddenly clenching tighter, his grip on your waist firm as if he’s terrified, you’ll run away. He can’t admit it, he’s not strong enough. If you step away, he will fall back to the way he was the previous night; eyes bloodshot, unable to sleep unless he knows you’re safe. 
“Give her my best.” The response is blunt, short. You’re on entirely different wavelengths, different planets. He never told you of his reasoning for things; a golden rule you had learnt at the beginning of this era. Just…you’d never question him; you would simply co-exist. What he says next makes your blood run cold. 
“Why don’t you come with me? I’d really appreciate it.” Why on earth would your estranged husband want you to come on his travels, presumably when the entire point was to spend the entirety of it wrapped in the arms of another woman. Yet, a feeling in your stomach settled. Did you actually want to spend hours in this empty house alone? Now that Carlos was no longer a welcome distraction, anything would be better than wallowing in your silence. 
“I will.” You eventually respond. “On one condition.”
“Anything.” His eyes are wide, so willing. He’d scooted tighter towards you, as if he could hold together this entire conversation, stopping the whole world from crumbling around you. You must be the one to take a deep breath this time. You had to remain firm with your choices, with what you needed to know. 
“What was in the white envelope that your mistress gave you yesterday?”
You loved the glow of candlelight. 
Having never entered Charles’ study, his fingers interlocked with your own as he guided you through the heavy door, you didn’t realize how many candles he had resting around his office. They laid upon his windowsill, on his desk, he even had a mulberry-scented candle resting next to his racing simulator. 
There was only one candle which was lit, he had obviously forgotten to extinguish it whilst you were deep in your slumber. Despite the fact you hadn’t ever been given access to this room, you’d have to make a mental note in order to check for any fire hazards the next time you were in the building alone. 
The envelope resting upon the desk stuck out like a sore thumb; his computer, stationary, it was all a cool gray tone whereas the envelope stuck out in a bright white glow. 
“I need you to know before you look at this, it’s a lot worse than it comes across.” Even in the candlelight, his face had turned pale, barely able to keep his fear from dancing across his emotions. You need to remain strong. You need to see what was left in the envelope. 
Staying firm, your grasp reaches out towards the desk, taking the card into your own hands. “I want to see it.” You clarified, letting your finger trace under the flap of the envelope.
You don’t let your husband’s words overpower you, distract you in any way. Instead, your hand reaches into the envelope and grasps around a stack of…something. It feels like multiple pieces of paper pressed together, though one side remains glossy, as if printed onto a special sheet. Hesitantly, your hand pulls from the envelope, eyes immediately widening upon seeing the content in question.
It's photographs. Multiple photographs of Charles and his mistress. Some of them are casual, taken from her phone, smiling selfies and dinner dates. Others are…compromising, verging on pornographic. You can feel the lump in your throat tightening, tears are forming on your lower lash line, but you must keep strong. You cannot show any weakness when you ask to see this.  
“That’s her, isn’t it?” Your voice betrays you, weakening as your words continue. “Your…girlfriend.” You don’t want to use the other word; it’s clear from these photographs it was more than sex, it was more than just an escapade. 
“She’s- she’s not anymore.” Charles pauses, his eyes don’t focus on the photographs, only on you. His wife, who he has hurt so badly and now must see the pain littered across her face. “She hasn’t been since your mother passed away.”
Your heart stops at the mention of your mother, a sharp spike of longing for the woman suddenly danced through your chest. Then, you were angry. How dare he pity you, you didn’t want it, not from him. But…you still wanted him. He’d clouded your emotions, nothing was black-and-white with your husband, just a cacophony of colors. 
“That was your reason for dumping her. Sympathy?” You don’t care how harsh your voice comes across, instead just aggravated you were growing to care about his reasoning. Life had been simpler weeks ago, when you simply stayed at home, minding your own business whilst he got on with his. By the look on Charles’ face, he wasn’t expecting the hostility, either. 
“No! I dumped her because it was wrong, because I have a loving wife who I would give anything for.” The room goes silent, giving you time to process the words that had come from his lips. You had been so certain for so long that he didn’t care about you; that everything he did was for his own gain and pleasure. Yet…he had given up his mistress for you. He’d given up something that made him happy because you were not. 
Stressing, you run a hand through your hair, placing the photographs back into the envelope, speaking to your husband as you place the card back onto his desk. You feel sick. These photographs exist and it was a perfect way to destroy the two of you, it was perfect ammunition to a metaphorical pistol. “So, what does she want you to do with these photographs?”
“Nothing.” Charles leans over your own body, reaching for a second stack of papers resting upon the desk, one you had considered would simply be notes from Scuderia Ferrari. Warm seeps through your body at his close contact, one hand almost trailing against your back as he grasps to the stack of crisp sheets, barely touched.  “She’s threatened to publish them if I don’t sign…this.” 
You took the stack of ivory papers into your palms. It was sprawled with a size twelve font, you were uncertain of where to begin until two words in bold took your attention, printed formally across the top of the page. 
“Divorce Papers.” Your voice is barely a whisper, heart dropping to your stomach. 
“That’s the other reason I’m going to Monaco.” He’s explaining his own status now, eyes glassy with the fear of you walking straight out of the office. He wouldn’t blame you, of course. He couldn’t blame you for anything anymore. Charles reaches out to your grasp, wiggling the paper from your fingers and placing them back against the desk.  “I’m filing for a lawsuit against her, a restraining order for manipulation and stalking.” 
A scoff falls from your lips; the mere contrast of the events from a few weeks ago compared to now. He truly intended to file a lawsuit against a woman who he’d happily let warm his bed whilst you went to bed each night with nothing but regret and bloodshot eyes. “Do you…do you want a divorce?” You can feel your voice cracking. “I mean, if she’s sent you these, you must have mentioned wanting one-”
“I did.” Charles doesn’t miss a beat. “I mentioned how I didn’t want a divorce because despite everything…I do care for you.” The room goes silent, not even the flickering of the candle or the soft wind from the French windows can pierce the tone of the room. 
A huff escapes your lips, arms resting by your side as you formulate a response; “You had a really weird way of showing it.” Your response is blunt, it clearly warrants the sad look on your husband’s face. 
“I know. That’s why I’m going to make it right. Please come to Monaco with me. She won’t be there; you don’t have to come to the lawyer with me. But…I need to be able to come back to my wife.” His hand reaches out, cradling your own in this moment. Gently, he lifts your palm to his cheek, resting it upon his stubble and letting his lips trace a kiss across the soft skin. 
He truly does know how to make your heart flutter, despite everything. 
“Okay.” You eventually respond, focused on his gaze when his eyes turn wide in anticipation. 
“Yeah?” His heart is picking up in happiness, reaching to hold you in his own grasp, but instead falling short when you raise a finger, ceasing his movements towards your body. 
“But…you need to give me tonight, alone. To process that.” Gently, you take a step forward, leaning gently towards him. You can’t leave him, not before you gently press a kiss to his cheek, turning on your heel, your figure illuminated in the corridor by the soft candlelight. “Goodnight, Charles.”
“Goodnight, beautiful.” 
You loved the feeling of warm water.
There is only a slender picking of moments in your life where you have felt truly relaxed; sitting by the lake in the rolling fields your family had owned for generations, lounging in the bed of the Madrid-Based apartment your friends had hired for a holiday in the early spring morning. 
You had never thought one of those relaxing moments would be as your mother-in-law massaged her hands through your locks, lathering an expensive shampoo into the roots of your hair. She was gentle; no tangles fell through her fingers as her rhythm stayed perfectly relaxing, hitting all the spots which would send a flood of relief through your scalp. 
You’d arrived in Monaco early that morning, immediately being transported to the luxurious hotel your husband had booked you into. Most of the trips he’d book you wouldn’t attend, and when you did would be ignored by him altogether. This time, he’d remained present, willing. Your hands had entwined the moment you had left the privacy of the jet, nestling into the back of the car, eyes heavy from the early rise.
Not much is remembered after you’d arrived outside the opulent building; bags were removed and transported to your room by the bellhop, both you and your husband were given hotel cards, an older lady at the desk explaining the functions dotted around the high-end establishment. All you could remember was the door to the room opening, your tired body making a beeline towards the emperor bed, nuzzling into the soft furnishings with sleep overtaking you in a matter of moments. 
Charles hadn’t been able to help the tug on his heartstrings as he’d seen you tumble into the mattress. You’d been so thoughtful; dropping everything back at your house and accompanying him to Monaco, promising to be there for him as he promised to fix the wounds from his previous mistakes. He’d give anything to crawl into the bed alongside you, wrap his frame around your own and fall back into his own slumber, one he had despised the night before simply because he wasn’t able to hold you in his arms. He was learning to respect your wishes; after all, he had a lot of repairing to do-so. Even after recent conversations with his Ferrari counterpart, he could never bring himself to hate you. 
His phone buzzes from his back pocket and upon inspection he sees the reminder, he’s due with his lawyer in less than forty-five minutes, but he doesn’t want to leave you, not alone. A thought sparks into his head, fingers flying through his contacts and dropping a message to one, asking if they could take you over to his mother’s salon later in the afternoon. By the time he’s returned from changing in the en-suite and brushing a comb through his hair, the responses from both Joris and his mother had lit up his screen, confirming his plans for later in the afternoon. 
Your husband had allowed himself one more look at you, so peaceful wrapped up in the comfort of the bed. Silently, he leans over your frame, running a gentle hand across the back of your head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring his sweet words to your sleeping form.
When you’d awoken, there was a message clarifying that Joris would be taking you to his mother’s salon a little later and he would come to collect you once he was finished with his lawyer. That’s how you had ended up walking into her salon earlier that afternoon, her delighted smile present after seeing her daughter-in-law.
Pascale wasn’t stupid, that much was clear. She was aware of the strain in her middle son’s marriage, just not to the extent that he had been toying with a mistress for the better part of a year. However, she had grown to adore you; your mannerisms, laughter and the fact that you clearly held a candle for Charles, despite the dwindling flame of the marriage. If she had a daughter, she’d want her to be just like you. 
“Are you and Charles up to anything this evening?” Her voice is gentle, motioning for you to stand up from the basin chair and walk towards the mirrors, resting yourself in one of the seats. Your reflection bores back into you, focused as Pascale adjusts your head slightly, brushing the tendrils of hair through her comb. 
“I’m not sure.” You respond. “I know he has some business this morning.” It’s an understatement. When Joris had collected you from the hotel, he’d tried to give you what information he could – Charles had arrived at his Lawyer’s office, ready to file the case against his mistress. He wasn’t too sure how long it was going to take, though he had told Joris to be on hand for anything you needed when he couldn’t. 
“You make him happy; you know?” Pascale mentions, tilting your head to angle your hair correctly. “I know he hasn’t always been…the greatest.” You’re not sure if she’s aware of everything, but her tone seems to stand where you need it to do so, “but you make…such an impact in his life.” 
Not much else is said whilst the woman continues to trim your hair, adjusting your face as she does so. It was nice, not to be cooped up into a hotel room for the entirety of the day, nor to be sitting in Charles’ driver room whilst he walked around, finger entwined with his mistress. You’re so engrossed in Pascale drying your hair, setting the locks into soft rollers that you don’t realize when the door chimes open, another figure entering the quiet salon. The woman’s eyes brighten, and you hear her cooing before your own face turns, taking in the figure of your husband in the doorway. 
Charles looks breath-taking. He’d clearly showered and changed since you had last seen him bundled in his travel gear that morning. Your deduction would be correct; the man had hastily returned to the hotel to jump into the shower, changing into a power blue shirt and white trousers. His hair, free of styling products curled in an unruly way, one that made his whole face structure elevate. 
In his hands, he held both a soft white dress over his arm, one you had packed in your case fleetingly the evening before; it had been steamed and washed, the fabric clear and petticoats of the skirt floating gently. In his other hand, a vibrant bouquet of roses. His smile never faded, walking over to his mother and pressing a kiss to each of his mother’s cheeks. Once his attention turns towards you, his eyes only brighten. 
“Hello, beautiful.” You can’t tell whether he’s playing up the affection in front of his mother, or whether it’s genuine. However, when one hand comes to rest on your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s being respectful; making sure not to cross a boundary. 
“Hello, handsome.” The response falls from your lips without realizing, the grin on your husband's face only rising. Fuck. Did you mean to say that? Regardless, you had done, and by the look on his face he not only didn’t expect it but had instantly grown to love it. Charles had completely forgone the flowers in his grasp, only remembering them after your eyes had darted down towards his palms. 
“Oh-“ His mind finally catches up with the present situation, raising his hand to present you with the flowers. They’re colors are soft, delicate, as if etched by crayon. You can’t help but smile at the gesture, even if it was entirely a false pretense in front of his mother. You can’t see her face, but you know she’s smiling, seeing her son present to his wife in such a sweet manner. Now, your gaze isn’t fixed against the flowers in your grasp, but the dress from your suitcase.
“Something tells me that won’t fit you, Charles.” You tease the garment laying over his forearm, only to cause a smile to appear on his lips again. 
“I want to take you out for the afternoon. If that’s okay with you.” His voice is low now, hoping to avoid any prying of the conversation from his mother, though her attention was now turned to locating the hair dryer, still needing to complete your own treatment. “Would that be…okay?” He’s nervous. Fearful that after everything, you could now reject him and feel no remorse.
You’re not a cruel person, it has never been in your nature. Instead, you match his own smile, nodding as you take the garment from his grasp, Charles’ eyes widening in confirmation. 
“Trust you to pick out my favorite dress, too.” You mumbled. 
You loved the sound of the ocean. 
You loved everything about the sea, truly. The reflections from the moonlight caused shards to reflect over Charles’ boat; the new yacht had barely had time to stretch the waters, though it seemed to float as if it had been nurtured its entire existence. 
The afternoon of a late lunch had expanded into expensive, late-night wine on the boat as your husband had guided you into deeper waters. He knew what he was doing, after all; the waters of Monaco were a comfort to him, a lifetime had stretched out from jumping into the ocean as a child to yacht parties during the Grand Prix. 
You’d seemed entirely at home, and it made his heart warm. Charles wasn’t a stupid man; he saw how you kept yourself small, your setup at the house barely spanning over two rooms. He’d wanted nothing more than to break the walls you had put up for oh-so-long and entwine your lives together.
Then he would reprimand himself, remind himself he was the sole reason those walls existed. 
Conversation had spanned naturally into the events of the day; you thanked him for thinking of you, he’d responded with a mention of you deserving that form of treatment every single day. Your mind can’t take the anticipation; when your lips lift from the glass of wine, you can’t help but ask what his lawyer had recommended about his mistress. Your husband’s grin had fallen a little, running a hand through his dark curls. 
“It’s a difficult one.” He explains. “There’s enough there for a case, considering we haven’t had contact in a while. But…” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; you do for him. 
“The photographs are counted as evidence.” You finish, and he can only nod. He’s created such a mess, something he could never forgive himself for doing so. A web of lies and mistreatment surrounded you both; he so wanted to break each thread and simply cradle you, be in a bubble for the rest of eternity. 
He’s expecting you to stay silent, then. Maybe that’s where the evening should have ended, with silence upon the realization that this case will not be easily solved. Instead, you place the glass of wine down on the ledge of the stairs, easing his own glass from his grasp. Charles is confused, even more so when you walk back towards him, wrapping your arms to close around his neck. 
“What are you doing?” He whispers. His hands raise hesitantly, as if touching you would break you into a million pieces. His grasp only falls to your waist when you press closer towards the man, resting your gaze on his own eyes. He’s hurt you, broken you to such an extent, and yet you can’t help but draw closer to his touch, to his eyes. 
“Being your wife.” You respond, before pressing your lips to his own. This is the first time, the first time in so long that you had been the one to initiate a kiss. Naturally, Charles’ hands wrap tighter around your waist, pulling you into his chest, deepening your touch, your kiss. This. This is the moment he wishes to bottle forever, to live in the comfort of his wife’s touch, no outside means, no other commitments being hung over his head. 
You’re not sure how long you both stand there, wrapped in one another, hands fleeting over each other, desperate to find some touch, some form of skin. It isn’t until your fingers reach to unbutton the top of his powder-blue shirt, that his own come to rest atop of yours. He knows he’s made a mistake when he sees the look you shoot him, immediately assuming the worst. 
“No, no.” He promises, both hands flying from where they had grasped yours, cradling each side of your face. It feels…warm. It feels so similar to the way Carlos had cradled your head once, when you were both on a boat, much like this. You think of those dark eyes, the whispers drawn into your ear as he had sharply thrusted into you that evening. Then, you think of the blonde appearing outside his apartment mere hours after you had been tangled in his arms. 
“I want to.” Charles’ words draw you from your endless train of thoughts. “Sweetheart, I want to more than anything, but I need you to know how much it means-“
You don’t let him finish; instead, you press your mouths back together, forcefully. There are whispers from your own lips, pleading that he take you, that you want nothing more than to feel your bodies atop of one another. 
And who is he to deny his wife? 
You’re not sure when he scoops you up into his arms, guides you inside of the boat and to the soft bed that had been freshly made mere hours ago, but he never lets your lips leave one another for less than a moment.
He’s everywhere; he’s pressing into you in the most delicious way, he’s drawing your body of the most intense sounds, and then you’re coming, harder than you ever thought was possible, it hits you in the most delicious way. 
Your fingernails pressed crescents into his skin as he continued to push into you with that perfect rhythm. Feeling your hot breath dance against the shell of his neck, the sweet whimpers of your overstimulated orgasm falling from your lips. Charles feels you clench around him, dragging you into him deeper, and it's all over.
His head immediately falls into the joint of your neck and shoulder, his pants getting heavier, thrusts rougher as he chases his own release. Teeth escape from his lips, biting down atop of the red marks he'd left earlier in a passion; the gasp you let-out, the roll of your hips against his own pushes him over the edge, a moan falling out from his own lips, hands flying to grip at your forearms pinned above him. You can feel every inch of him buried inside of you, warmth spilling into you.
Heavy hips press into yours, your thighs still pressed around his waist when he lifts his head from the warmth of your skin, pressing one final deep kiss to your lips, a profanity of words escaping from his mouth.
He kisses you again. And again. He keeps doing it whilst slowly rocking his hips, still jittering from his own orgasm. Senses come through, those eyes you had been entranced in so many times fixing to your own, drinking you in, looking so beautiful underneath his own frame.
"You still want somebody else?" The teasing is natural, almost, inflicting you to roll your eyes and playfully push his arm. God, your laugh is the most adoring sound in the world to him, it had been so long since he'd heard it, even then, it had never been due to his own actions until recently. The adorned look in his eye is soon replace with confusion when he feels you wiggle underneath him, soft blankets rubbing against your back.
"Are you going somewhere?" He questions, one hand coming up to trace against your jawline. You want to lean into his touch, it's something you'd been attracted to recently, though the mess between your legs and sweat trailing down your skin seemed to tell you something different.
"I need to clean up." You whine, pressing your body into the plush mattress. "I'm all gooey, Charles."
"I've got it." He murmurs, pressing one soft kiss to your cheek, another to your neck. You expect the weight from above to release you, but the warmth radiating from his body remains. You feel lips trace against your chest, his untamed curls tickle your stomach as he traces down a direct line.
"What are you doi-" You never get to finish you question, the fourth word cut off with a soft gasp, those lips which had pressed to yours, now pressing down against your clit, a soft praise towards your body whilst his tongue traced around the sensitive bud, drawing a slice through your wet lips, pressing deeper and deeper into your entrance.
The room is illuminated with your whines, hips bucking against his stubble as he fulfills his promise of cleaning you up.
You loved the feeling of being held.
You’d been unfathomably happy to walk into the paddock that evening, fingers interlaced with Charles’ as he guided the two of you through the fans and photographers alike, buzzing to be starting on Pole Position when his wife would be watching in awe of his achievement. 
You hadn’t been there on qualifying day; you were still trying to keep your distance where you could, to prove to your husband he couldn’t instantly win you back overnight. It had only been when he’d come into the en-suite of your room the evening before, hands wrapped around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, pleading you came to watch him race the following night.
“I’ll win.” He promises, voice quiet as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll win it for you.” 
His sweet words had not only lured you to the race track the following day but had also drawn you to sleep in his bed that evening, curled up into his toned chest as he murmured words of appreciation in French; only a few you were able to pick up and understand the meaning of as you drifted into a comfortable sleep, arms cradling your body underneath the bed sheets.
There was a collective, loving aura that evening when the two of you had stepped into his garage, the team in awe of seeing that their Prince of Monaco and his beloved Princess had been reunited, here to support one another. However, one figure remained quiet, eyes transfixed on your every movement. He felt his knuckles turn white when Charles had changed into his race suit, placing his cap atop of your own head and had lovingly pressed two kisses to either of your cheeks.
Carlos Sainz was a jealous man; he’d been infuriated when his blonde fling had appeared on his doorstep, instantly realizing the kind of man he must have been made out to be when you’d seen her appear on your departure. He’d hoped and prayed you hadn’t seen her, but from the radio silence he received over messages and calls, to the way you had purposely avoided speaking to him when arriving in the paddock, he could tell you were not that naive.
Emotions had played a heavy part on both of the Ferrari Pilots during the start of the race. One, determined to keep his promise and win whilst his wife was present. The other was so clouded with sadness and rage that all he wanted to do was push his counterpart off the track. The lights snapped off, 20 engines revving in unison as the cars blitzed down the first straight. 
It doesn’t take long for emotion to overcome; Charles’ P6 soon creeps towards a P3, whilst Carlos begins to drop. A violent turn into Oscar Piastri not only takes the young rookie out of the race, but the Ferrari driver, too. Nobody misses the swears as he switches the engine off, nor the scowl on his face as he removes the steering wheel, ready to be escorted back to the garage. 
When the blur of red comes through the paddock, you can’t help but feel guilty, telling yourself that if you had spoken to him, he would have been able to keep a cool head. Silently, you slip the headphones from your temple, murmuring about going to the bathroom before taking a direct beeline towards Carlos’ room, catching the door just before it’s due to slam closed. 
He was seething. Pure rage flicked across his eyes; the warm smile reserved for you replaced with a harsh scowl. This may have been a mistake. 
“What do you want?” His words are venom, spit towards you. He cannot stand to see you right now.
“I just-“You pause, clearing your throat. “I wanted to check if you were okay.” It’s a pathetic answer, really. One that didn’t sit right in your mouth, even after you had spoken. 
“I’m alright?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You ignore my calls, go away and fuck that pathetic man and then come back to me?” He’s pissed, undoubtedly so. “You whore. I understand it all now.” He shakes his head, missing the fire which had begun to burn in your own stomach. 
“You have no right!” You’d shrieked so loudly you’d startled yourself; one finger was still pointed into his infuriated face, your finger mere millimeters from the bridge of his nose. Hot air engulfed both of your bodies, the only sound present was the deep and heavy breathing flaring from your nostrils. 
Without a thought, Carlos had slapped your finger away from his face, lunging forward dramatically to seize your face into his rough palms. His lips are on yours, roughly seeking the wet trace of your tongue. You can’t fight him; not when his lips feel so flawless against your own. A rough palm encases the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist as he holds your frame tighter against his own. 
Your breath barely had a moment to catch when he forcefully pulled his lips from you, emitting a white from your breath. That innocent sound is soon replaced by a sharp gasp, his fingers tightening against your scalp, pulling on your locks. 
“Don’t fucking whine.” He spits, ghosting his lips over your own, never letting them touch yours. Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear when his grip pulls tighter onto your hair, tiling your ear to meet his mouth. “I’m sick of your whining, about your horrible excuse for a husband. I will treat you how you should be treated.”
There’s no time to react as his pink tongue pokes from his lips, a stripe tracing from the corner of your ear, across the sweetest spot of your neck. You’re reveling in the wetness, the sinful way his words litter through the air before teeth sink into your skin. He doesn’t bother to cover your mouth, mute the sweet sounds falling from your lips. There’s no decency anymore, Carlos doesn’t care who sees the marks he engraves into your skin. The ring on your left hand means nothing more than a reminder that he could be better. 
“Carlos-“ You struggle to connect the two syllables together, hands gripping through his hair, pulling at the brown locks in your fingers. “Fuck-“ 
“What did I just say?” He grunts from the valley of your neck, one hand sliding from your waist and flying out, smacking on your clothed butt. The shock simply causes you to gasp out loud, pushing your own throbbing crotch into his hard one. A smirk forms against your neck, clear as day when the man pulls himself from your neck. His lips are wet, saliva from his own mouth tracing around your lips. 
One hand finds your face again, grasping at your chin tilting your head backwards to hover below his own. A single finger taps at your lips, signaling for you to open wide for him. He’s sinful as he lets his spit fall across your lips, eyebrows raised as he wraps a hand around your throat, clearly overpowering your stance in this moment.
“Swallow.” He commands, hand resting on your cheek firmly. The tone of his voice sends a shock of energy down your chest and between your legs, cunt throbbing at his words. Of course, you comply, swallowing the remanence he had given you. “Good girl.” 
The sweet nicknames in this moment have evaporated; Carlos is nothing short of animalistic, his presence all too understanding as one hand takes its place around your neck, the other grabbing firmly onto your wrist as he guides you backwards, softly falling onto the sofa of his driver’s room. The pitying looks the man gives you sends a thousand messages through your brain. 
“No, no. Dirty little girls don’t get to sit on my sofa.” He teases, both hands clasping your waist, sliding you off the plush furnishings and resting on the cold floor, kneeling for the Spaniard. “You need to be on your knees, you need to be taught how to behave.” 
Eyes widen as his tanned fingers pull at the knotted arms of the fireproofs resting on his waist. Even through his underclothes, the shape of his hard length is clearly visible, even more so as he removes his underlayers and briefs, letting himself spring freely, one hand rubbing his shaft a few times, the other knotting in the back of your hair. 
He loves this; cock in his hand as he taps the tip against each of your cheeks, trailing himself against the parting of your lips, having to hide the shiver from his own body when the wetness of your mouth. His eyes are sparkling when he uses his firm cock to press through your mouth, relishing in the warmth of your lips wrapping around his length. 
“That’s it, be a good girl. Take it.” He coos as you struggle to take more of his length, attempting to give small, tentative licks to his cock whilst he slides between your lips. It sends him feral, wild. He thinks of nothing else as both hands grip tightly in your hair, shoving your face into his crotch, your gags music to his ears as he continues to take control of the situation.
When your eyes adjust, look up from his groin, he almost feels sorry for you. They’re wide, glassy, snuffles falling from your lips as he continues his forceful attack. One hand slowly removes itself from the strain on your locks, tracing over your cheek, thumb rubbing underneath your eye, removing the salty tears as your breath remains heavy through your nose. 
“Oh, poor baby.” He teases, pace never relenting. “This is what you need, someone to put you in your place, remind you what you deserve for teasing me, making me jealous.” He can’t help but chuckle at the pathetic sound coming from your lips. He can feel his stomach tightening, the warmth drawing an imminent release from his cock. This isn’t how he wants to finish, he can’t yet. 
Your mouth feels empty when he pulls out, giving you no warning, the gasps falling from your lips at the sudden gain of air. He doesn’t give you time to respond, a heavy hand pushing your front to the floor, lifting your hips, ass straight back in the air. No warning, the skirt of your dress is lifted, the wetness of your cunt seeping through your panties. The anticipation kills you, until a warm finger slides into your folds with no warning. Your body can’t help but react, clenching around the warmness without even realizing. You also don’t realize the sounds you’re making, until the finger removes itself, a palm harshly smacking on your behind. 
“What did I say about noises?” He grunts, leaning around to push the wet finger into your own mouth. “Do you like it? Taste what I do to you?” Hurriedly, he presses his finger in and out of your lips a few times before returning it to your wet hole, wiggling in the air. This time there’s two; stretching you out, your palms trying to find anything to grip, to hold on to as he carelessly thrusted, tickling a sweet, sweet spot deep in your stomach. 
“I- Carlos I can’t-“ You whine through raspy breaths. He can feel you clenching, swelling around his fingers, and is rewarded when he hastily pulls them out of you, a long moan and a squirt of arousal pushing from your cunt. A sheer shock of arousal floods between his own legs, rubbing his fingers against your wet folds, letting your wetness trail onto the tips of his hand.
“Oh, your husband can’t make you do that, can he?” He’s proud; proud he’s able to draw such a reaction from your body. “Come on, baby, up we get.” His arms are suddenly firm, present around your waist as he pulls you to stand on two shaky legs, still reveling in the feeling he had granted you moments ago. 
Hands retract from your waist and come to hold your face, pressing kisses to your scarlet lips as he guides you from a standing position towards his couch, finally allowing himself to sink into the cushions. You want nothing more than to join him, feel his warmth and aura around your own body, but by the finger he’s raised as he situates himself into the sofa, you can tell you’ll have to wait. 
The moment he sits down, a tanned hand comes to his crotch to rub his length a few times, your eyes widening as you plead for it; mind clouded by lust, all you want is for something warm to fill you up, make you feel as good as he had done so many times before. Carlos’ finger beckons for you to join him, and you know what he’s insinuating. 
Your movements are commanded by the Spaniard; immediately, there are two firm hands on your body, pulling you into his touch and sinking you down onto his cock. You don’t miss the way his lips quirk into a grin, oh-so-happy to see your reaction to the pleasure he had granted you. It’s no match for when he starts moving, bouncing you up and down on his lap, fallen gasps from your lips as your faces draw closer and closer.
You were sinking into one another’s skin; he wanted nothing more than to entwine your bodies for eternity. One hand was firm around your waist, guiding your movement with the strength only he could. The other guided a gentle trace across your face, pulling you closer, closer to his own face as his thrusts got faster, erratic. 
“You’re mine.” He grunts, never once breaking eye contact as his hips grew tighter, his cock making your cunt squeeze in a way you didn’t know was physically possible. “You’ve always been mine, tell me you’re mine.”
His eyes go soft, thrusts pausing for a second as he notes the tears pooling in your eyes from the sheer euphoria running through your body. A whine falls from your lips as you feel his strong hand tug at your neck, pressing your foreheads towards one another, hips slowing for just a moment, letting your breath catch up to your aching body. 
“I’m yours.” You’d whisper, mind clouded. You were his. There could be a thousand cars, an ocean or a wedding band between the two of you and you would still always find your way back to Carlos. Whatever that relationship would form, you would always be a part of him. 
The murmured confirmation was enough to send a shot of energy through his spine, his thrusting becoming deeper, passionate. It barely takes five thrusts before he’s groaning, throwing his head back and letting out a low moan as he spills himself into you. The warmth is enough to send your cunt into flutters, clenching so tightly as your body falls into his chest, whining as you feel a gush of wetness drip onto his crotch. 
Undoubtedly, Carlos Sainz is now a part of you. Time seems to flicker between seconds and minutes, at some point you’ve shifted your weight, turning around to fix your eyes onto the television screen of his room, eyes wide as you watch your husband continue to battle out on the track. It felt almost sinful; watching Charles battle for his podium whilst his teammate stayed buried inside of you. 
His touch goes soft; one hand remains tight around your waist, though your back is warmed by the way you’re pulled back into his skin. Feather-Light kisses dance across your shoulder, he’s never been this soft, cradling you as if the world would be held together by your content. If the universe was to implode, he would be happy with the fact you were pressed into him in that very moment. 
The laps of the race begin to dwindle; a promising second-place is looking pretty much secured for Charles. You’re certain that your silver trophy will be sitting proudly in the hotel room later that evening, until Max Verstappen suddenly begins to slow down, commentators beginning to roar as an unexpected engine issue splutters into the RB19. 
“Holy shit.” Carlos murmurs, sitting up from his relaxed position, both arms now tightly around your waist as he shifts the balance of your bodies. “What happened to Max?” His voice becomes a murmur, your attention drifts, focused on the cars beginning to pick up their speed against the current world champion. 
Goosebumps litter your skin, you immediately pull away from the warmth of Carlos, eyes wide as you see the scarlet red car glide into view. He’s going to overtake Max. Not only that, but your husband is about to win the entire race. 
An audible groan comes from both of you when you slip yourself off his length, searching around for the panties which had been discarded oh-so-long ago; the man rests a hand on your shoulder, one hand tracing across your jawline as the other reaches down, gently smoothing the skirt of your long dress. 
“We’ll find them later. We need to go and congratulate your husband, after all.” You can’t miss the cockiness in his voice, still content with the fact his cum is buried deep inside your pussy, panties are left in his driver’s room as a sheer prize for being able to make you feel euphoric. A tinted blush decorates your cheeks as he slips into his old jeans and a Ferrari polo shirt, one hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you out of his driver’s room, never once bothering to fix his hair when you had been the one to grab onto it so tightly.
People wouldn’t think that of him, after all. 
You love to be loved. 
Your eyes are brimming with tears as you reach Parc Fermé, Carlos finally catching up with you, standing right behind you at the barrier, eyes transfixed onto his teammate, standing atop of his livery, cheering towards the endless roars of the crowd, passing a congratulatory message towards his fellow drivers, Lewis patting his back, Lando cheering on his behalf.
He’s already removed his helmet when he sprints towards his team; the losses don’t matter, not when he can celebrate the win he had been craving for so, so long. There are praises passed, pats on the back as he works his way down the winding line of his team, red in their clothes and their cheeks, it means the world to everybody. 
And then, Charles is facing you, his wife. He’s so transfixed upon your gaze, the sheer elation you have for his victory that he doesn’t stop to think when he takes two of his hands on either side of your face, cradling your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours, grinning into such a sweet kiss that you can’t help but kiss him back. 
“I told you.” He whispers when he pulls away from you, resting a gentle hand on your cheek for just a moment. His eyes finally turned to where his teammate was standing. Both of them have to forge a smile as they reach out to clasp hands, a firm grip in celebration of scoring points for their team. 
You don’t see him again, not until he’s left the cool-down room and is bounding towards the podium. Carlos, having not been called to his post-race interview yet, still stood behind you, though one hand had snaked its way around your waist, as if it had to be there. Nobody notices, of course. The team is too focused upon their driver lifting his golden trophy, in awe of the achievement they had built for seemingly the entire season.
Charles doesn’t miss it, of course. Maybe that’s why his gaze is so fixed on you when he releases a splash of champagne, purposely aiming his bottle towards the man behind you, his heart only crushing further when he sees the Spaniard pull your frame behind his own in protection. 
And then, it’s all over. Both Carlos and Charles are rushed away to complete their post-race interviews. You’re left alone, simply taking a slow walk towards the Ferrari Hospitality. Even as you pace through the crowds, you can’t help but feel…sick. Dizzy. Out-of-body. 
You cared for your husband greatly, and somewhere during it all, you believed his apology was genuine, that he truly wanted to fix the previous mistakes of the year. But how long would his tether last until his mistress came trailing back, regardless of a court ruling?
And Carlos. The sweet man who had proved to you time and time again, you were worth more than a simple name on a piece of paper. He’d been your soul, you truly were set to drop an entire marriage to live in his arms until his blonde counterpart came along, a knife to the chest after one of the most intimate nights you could fathom. 
Your breathing gets faster, the world begins to turn on an axis. From somewhere, you hear a voice asking if you’re okay, if you need help getting back to the hospitality. And then, the world goes black, your body slumps to the floor of the paddock, with only one sentence drifting through your unconscious mind.
Who do you love? 
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spaghettiposts · 1 month
Text
To be loved
Tara Carpenter x Reader
Summery: You’ve never known love, until Tara.
Warnings: Fluff, lovey dovey words, mentions of Ghostface attacks, fluff fluff fluff, wlw, neglectful parents, hurt/comfort.
Word count: 2.1k
A/n: This was just a bunch of word-vomit I came up with in the spam of 3 days, reader definitely has been neglected but Tara’s here to fix that <3
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You’d say love was one of the things you missed most, a missing puzzle piece to your emotions. Absent parents tended to do that being busy with work and all, love only feeling like a distant concept because of it. Sure, you knew they cared for you—deep down somewhere, but not enough to take a day off. The more you thought about it, the more that nagging voice in your head mocked you; not once did they take a day off. 
There were fleeting moments of jealousy you felt, gazing desperately—longingly—at your friends and their mothers, wishing for just a fraction of that affection. The ache of longing never quite left, as you watched them being cared for, held close, and repeating the same wishful thinking. You never truly got to experience that, but swiftly pushed those feelings aside, burying them.
 By high school, you became pretty good at patching up your own wounds and learning to live on your own. Maybe that was for the best.
You learned to rely on yourself. 
That was until college, Blackmore University. A relatively close college to your house, the commute was doable and hey, you actually liked some of the classes. Your parents had encouraged you to attend first, explaining how getting a degree in engineering would really help you take over their business someday.
You hesitated to tell them that wasn’t what you wanted. Not if it meant having to put work before others, you didn’t wanna be like them. 
Still, you went along with it, taking the classes they suggested. Amidst the sea of blueprints,  you had picked up an appreciation of the art of film. Deciding to take a class for yourself, you signed up for Film History. Later, it was the best decision you ever made. 
And the first time you met Tara Carpenter. 
She was undoubtedly beautiful, anyone with eyes could see, but it was the radiance surrounding her that truly mesmerized you. Indisputably, you folded like a table. The effortless confidence she emitted during class discussions, the stubborn fire inside her, and her unabashed passion for something as simple as filmmaking—it seemed like the whole world to her. 
It only took a group project for her number to end up in your phone, and it only took a party for her to slam her lips against your own.  
With her, you found a happiness previously unknown to you. Every moment turned into the highlight of your week,  you were absolutely head over heels for your girlfriend. From tender first dates ending in soft slow kisses on her doorstep, to the cozy movie nights leaving your lips swollen and your cheeks flushed, and between those; gentle moments of care. They blossomed a newfound sense of joy in you, and in Tara. 
Day after day you effortlessly fell into new habits, soaking up every second of them. You learned Tara loved to smile between kisses, while she, in turn, learned you enjoyed the feeling of your hair being toyed with. It was all just perfect. 
However, as time went on, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Tara drifting away. Her sudden coldness left you stunned and hurt. The more you tried to talk, the more she pushed you away. But you weren’t one to back down so easily, confronting her in her apartment one last time, seeking some closure. 
 It only took a month for Tara to be honest with you, and fearfully so. Through shedded tears and shaking hands, she explained to you, and you listened. It hurt you to see her hurting, expressing vulnerability she hadn’t allowed you to see. Her arms came up to hug herself and you’d never wanted to punch Ghostface more. 
Tara half expected you to walk away, laugh at her, and leave her like the rest of them but you made it clear you weren’t leaving. You spent the entire afternoon by her side, determined to prove her wrong and keep her safe, whispering murmurs of promises between kisses. Holding her close until tears subsided and drifted off to sleep, thoroughly exhausted from it all, peacefully in your arms. 
Following her confession, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off Tara’s shoulders and your relationship picked up from where it stopped. Your bond with the shorter girl only grew stronger, surpassing previous boundaries as you both delved into a deeper understanding of one another. Tara clung to you, unwilling to let you slip away, and gradually, you found yourself spending more nights at her place than your own. And truth be told, you didn’t mind that one bit. 
As much as you wished everything could continue perfectly, a coward in a mask would only try to ruin it all. 
——
It had been a week since the latest run-in with Ghostface, A week since your left arm got slashed up. Tara was absolutely livid, and you wondered if her anger was directed more at the attacker or at you. Either way she let Chad hear it when she learned you had “heroically” taken the hit for him — though she preferred to call it stupid rather than heroic. You didn’t argue with her on it. Fortunately, Chad was able to pick himself up and knock out the idiot before he could do more.
Despite that fury she held inside her, you could see the worry etched on her face, bordering on tears, during your hospital stay.
Days later you’d learn he was just some deranged kid trying to be “Funny”. He was promptly arrested by the police and sent to a hospital. You’d never seen Sam so disgusted. 
Considering the circumstances, you were fine. Mentally? Probably not, you hadn’t had time to reflect on it. Physically? That’s where it was hitting most. The scars left by his knife only got progressively worse as time passed. Chad was quick to call an ambulance for you, and you thanked the man greatly, holding onto his shoulders for support. 
The doctors affirmed the bone wasn’t too severely damaged but it would need time to heal. Hence the blue cast hanging from your shoulder. 
But the strangest part wasn’t your injured arm - it was Tara’s behavior. You understood that she was reliving the whole ordeal all over again and tried your best to comfort her. But it seemed just being around you, without fail, brought tears back into her eyes. With time, she was starting to recover too, but she stayed unusually quiet. Despite this, she never left your side, not even for a moment. Like right now, she sat beside you, on your good side, as you watched a movie together in her room. 
You didn’t want this attack to get in the way of your relationship or mess things up, so you insisted on keeping things normal - like movie nights and when you were both up for it, date nights. 
Tonight, Tara picked a Disney movie, probably to keep things light after what happened. You tried not to let your heart swell too much at her consideration. 
“Sit up for me,” Tara mumbled out of nowhere, pulling you out of your thoughts. You furrowed your eyebrows but did as she asked, watching as she disappeared into the bathroom and came back holding a familiar red box. 
“Tara, I’m okay.” You lied. 
She arched an eyebrow, reading completely through you but didn’t say anything, simply opening the kit and motioning for you to swing your legs off the bed. 
You sighed, complying with her words knowing better than to argue. 
“You’ve been scratching at your shoulder this entire time. I know it’s bothering you. Let me change it.” She said softly.
Pursing your lips, you nodded, giving her the go-ahead. You understood that helping you made her feel better, even though you constantly reassured her that it wasn’t her fault.
Sitting straight up, you watched as she delicately unwrapped the gauze, marveling at her gentle touch. A shiver ran down your spine as the fresh air hit the wound, her eyes softening as they fell upon the scar. She then grabbed some cotton balls and applied alcohol to them, causing you to hiss at the burning sensation.
“Sorry.” She murmured, leaning in to press a kiss on your cheek before blowing softly on the cut. “I don’t want it to get infected, it’ll just get worse.” 
You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. It felt good, having someone care for you like this. More than you’d ever admit, really. The thought of how much you secretly loved Tara fussing over you was too embarrassing to acknowledge fully. 
You couldn't help but relish in the feeling of being looked after, of having someone fuss over you with such genuine concern. It was comforting, reassuring even, to know that you weren't facing this ordeal alone, that someone was there to support you every step of the way. 
As her fingers delicately adjusted the bandage, ensuring it was snug yet not too tight, your heart spoke before you could stop it. And just like that, the words spilled out, unfiltered and sincere: “I love you.”
Tara froze, the silence turning deafening. Her fingers pressed slightly harder against you, fingernails digging into your shoulder but you didn’t comment on it, too overwhelmed by your own anxiety and fear that she could hear how fast your heart was beating. After a beat of silence, she continued wrapping the fabric, cutting it off once she finished. Yet, her touch lingered, eyes fixated on the injury, her thumb softly rubbing against your shoulder. 
A small sniffled escaped her, and she stood up abruptly. Covering herself with her arm to wipe away tears. Your heart sank, fearing you had ruined everything.
“You shouldn’t.” She whispered, her voice barely audible, as she rubbed her arms in search of comfort. “I’ll just get you hurt.” 
Your eyes softened, heartbreaking at the sight of her vulnerability. It was a side of her you had only seen once before, the last time you nearly broke up. A look you didn’t want to see.
“Tara, don’t say that.” 
“It’s the truth, everywhere I go he follows.” She choked out, her eyes glistening, “You’ll never be happy constantly looking behind your shoulder, living in fear.” 
You stood up, pausing in front of the shorter girl. Tara sighed, shaking her head and turning away. Your hand gently lifted her chin, and you leaned down to press a kiss against her cheek, coaxing her shaken eyes to look at you. Very seriously you uttered, “Every time I'm with you I feel more secure than ever in my entire life. We take care of each other, I’ll take care of you. I love you, Tara.” 
Tara shudders, her head leaning against your forehead, letting the words wash over her. Your arm rubs softly against hers, while you pepper kisses along the side of her face, expressing your feelings through touch. 
Shakingly, her nails grip tighter against your back. “If you’re gonna keep saying that- you have to mean it.” She affirms, pulling back to look at you,  “You can’t just say that and leave, not anymore.”
You nod in agreement, finally, leaning down to capture her lips between your own, pulling her into a loving kiss. “I mean it, I love you.” You whisper against her lips. 
Tara swallows, before letting out a watery laugh. “I love you too, god I do.” 
Her hands find a home between your neck, pulling you in closer into a much firmer and passionate kiss. Your stomach tightens, and you shiver when her tongue slides in effortlessly, melting at her touch. 
Getting lost in the moment, your feet move before you realize it, and your knees hit the bed. Tara gasps in surprise, clutching onto you for support and you wince at the sudden pressure to your cast. 
You let out a breathy chuckle, sinking back into the mattress, Tara quickly joining in to meet you. The room fills with shared laughter, a moment of light amidst it all. Being mindful of your arm, Tara moves to lay by your side once again, draping an arm across your chest. She presses a lingering kiss to your neck, sighing against you.
You recall your previous conversation. And you wanted to say she had nothing to worry about—nothing to be scared of. But you both knew the truth of the cruel world you lived in. Safety wasn’t something you could guarantee, not to Tara, and not to yourself. 
Instead, you pulled the girl closer, her body adjusting to fit with yours, her head resting on your neck. If physical contact was what she needed to sleep for tonight and any night, you could provide that. Pressing a tender kiss to her head, you placed your chin on top of her, reveling in the moment, focusing on the small patterns she traced on your skin. 
And just for once, without fear, Tara let her eyes close. Slowly falling asleep in your warm embrace, completely reassured that you wouldn’t be leaving her.
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rileyslibrary · 1 year
Text
Nice shot
Summary: What happens when, in a moment of absent-mindedness, you accidentally slingshot your hair tie straight in Ghost’s eye as he briefs you and the team on a critical mission?
Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
Word count: 1,149
Notes:
Platonic(ish?) fluff *wink wink*
I admit the following fic could have easily ended up into something spicy, but I wasn’t feeling it when I wrote it so
Want more?
———————————————————————
You’re all seated around a large wooden table in the centre of an otherwise empty room, illuminated only by a flickering projector suspended from the ceiling.
Ghost stands at the head of the table with his back to a projected image of a wanted fugitive. His signature skull balaclava casts an eerie shadow over his face as he speaks, describing the mission’s objectives, the obstacles you’ll face, and the risks involved.
“Our objective is clear,” he says as he walks around the table. “We must take out a high-value target and retrieve vital intelligence.” 
“Alpha Team will establish a perimeter around the target’s refuge,” he explains, “while Bravo will execute an aerial rooftop landing.”
But, despite your lieutenant’s confident demeanour, you emit the exact opposite. The upcoming mission is dangerous, and anxiety gets the best of you. Your mind begins to race as you consider the implications and the impact it might have on your job and—worse—on your life.
As the briefing continues, it becomes increasingly difficult for you to sit still. You find yourself absentmindedly twisting a hair tie around your fingers. It was a nervous habit you picked as a child, a coping mechanism for whenever you felt overwhelmed. 
You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, but they are useless. So you continue to tangle that hair tie in your fingers as if trying to imitate the knots you feel in your stomach.
Stretching, twisting, turning it around… 
Stretching, twisting, turning it around… 
Stretch-
The hair tie suddenly slips from your grasp and flies across the table, slingshotting towards Ghost’s face and striking him square in the eye.
You’ve just hit one of the most notorious and feared lieutenants with a hair tie. 
The enigma of Task Force 141. Your superior. In the eye. With a hair tie. During a briefing. For a critical mission.
Gasps fill the room as everyone shifts their attention from the lieutenant to you, then back. Your heart drops to your stomach. What have you done?
You brace yourself for his reaction. 
Ghost, however, does not react; he doesn’t even turn to look at you. Instead, he kneels, picks up the hair tie, places it in his pocket, and resumes the briefing. Everyone is silent but as stunned by his reaction as you are.
You sink into your chair and take as little space as possible. As Ghost continues, you try to forget the incident, focusing on the mission’s details. However, concentrating is challenging since you can still feel everyone’s eyes on you. You turn to look at Soap, who mouths an inaudible “you’re fucked” as he looks at you dumbfounded.
The briefing ends, and everyone begins to pack up their stuff. You grab your belongings and dash for the door. Perhaps Ghost forgot about it. Maybe he brushed it aside. You wouldn’t find it surprising if he didn’t even notice who—
“Y/N, report to my office in 10.” He commands as he fills out the attendance form without looking at you.
Well, shit.
As you approach the lieutenant’s office, your heart is racing. Worry and embarrassment are fighting within you to see which emotion can make you feel the worst. You try to make up excuses to explain what happened, but what is there to explain? Scenarios fill your mind—bad ones. You might get heavily penalised. You could even lose your job. Not only that, but the thought of being chewed out by the lieutenant is enough to make you break out in a cold sweat. 
The hallway walls seem to close in; the fluorescent lights shine straight into your eyes, making you feel dizzy. Each step feels like you’re getting closer to your execution. 
The door to the office stands before you, and you pause, gathering your courage. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and knock on the door.
“Enter!” Ghost shouts from the other side of the door.
You push the door open and step into the room. Your heart threatens to escape your chest.
The room is small, and the only furnishings are a worn-off desk with a pair of hard-backed chairs. The lieutenant sits at the desk with his arms crossed over his broad chest; his gaze feels like a spear that pins you in place. He makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. Your legs feel unsteady. 
“Take a seat,” he says, motioning with a flick of his wrist to the chair across from him. You settle into the chair as he orders. The leather creaks beneath you, and you nervously twist your fingers in your lap. Thank God you don’t have that hair tie in your hands. 
Ghost leans back in his chair, never breaking eye contact. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here,” he murmurs. Even now, he’s been sarcastic.
You lower your gaze, avoiding to meet his eyes; your mouth is too dry to speak. He seems to understand your nervousness but continues anyway. 
“Nice shot,” he says with a chuckle. “Not many can catch me off guard like that.” Despite his concealed expression, you can hear the smile in his tone. 
You sit there shocked. You expected a stern lecture, but instead, he is having a laugh.
“I-I’m so sorry, sir—it was an accident.”
But Ghost waves his hand and dismisses your apology. “Next time, please use that aim on the battlefield,” he replies. “Just make sure to aim at the enemy; I won’t be accepting any more friendly fire from you.”
You chuckle, the tight knot in your stomach slowly unravelling.
“You’re dismissed,” he says softly, and you thank him for understanding.
As you grasp the door handle, you turn to face him again. “Lieutenant Riley,” you say, “may I please have back my hair tie, sir?”
He shakes his head. “Negative, soldier,” he replies, his focus shifting to his computer screen. “Who knows what else you might attempt with that deadly weapon of yours?” 
You shrug it off. Who cares anyway; you have plenty of “deadly weapons” in your vanity kit. 
You take one last look at Ghost as you close the door. His eyes smile as they lock with yours, and he gives you a wink. He retrieves your hair tie from his pocket and begins stretching, twisting, and turning it around.
———————————————————————
3K notes · View notes
halfmoth-halfman · 1 year
Text
life's little comforts
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets a better glimpse into your relationship with the Lieutenant- even if it's not the way he wants. Word Count: 3.9k Warnings: alcohol, smoking/cigarettes, torture, gore, blood, canon typical violence Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part four.
It’s late in the day when Soap walks into your office.
He hadn’t planned on being here, but after literally running into you- he wasn’t paying attention, and you took a corner too quickly- you’d asked him to grab a file from your office and bring it to you in Price’s office. You didn’t give him the chance to decline- not that he would’ve- continuing down the hall with a quick thanks.
It feels a bit like breaking and entering, like sneaking into his parents’ room as a child when they weren’t home. It’s too quiet, the sound of boots against the vinyl plank echoing in his eardrums as he heads to your desk. It’s a stack of papers in a bright blue file; you can’t miss it, you’d told him. 
He can miss it, apparently, since the file seems to be absent from your desk. Your plethora of colorful office supplies sits neatly organized atop your desk alongside your phone, computer, and printer, but there’s not a single file in sight. There are stacks of papers on the filing cabinets- the doors of which, he discovers, are locked with no key in sight- behind your desk and an absurd amount of sticky notes covering the locked glass planes of the pill cabinets. His only other option is-
He doesn’t want to go through your desk. It feels silly but somehow he imagines the desk sitting in front of him to be an extension of you. If he peeks inside the drawers, will he find clues about what makes you, you? He can’t imagine you’ll be angrier about him going through your desk than not bringing you the file but still, he hesitates.
It takes him two minutes to talk himself into it, telling himself not to look at anything that doesn’t look work-related. 
It takes one minute for him to completely disregard that as he pulls open the bottom drawer and sees the thick black edges of a picture frame beneath the file he was sent to find. He pulls the file and the frame from the drawer, setting the file on your desk with no consideration as he examines the photo. Saying the picture is old is an understatement. Deep creases run down the center and across it- someone’s folded and unfolded it several times- with the edges frayed away to almost nothing. The image is faded to all hell, but Soap recognizes the two figures in it with ease.
You’re in a warehouse perched atop a stack of black military crates, putting you at eye level with Ghost, who stands leaning against the crates in the space next to you. Your hair is longer, left down and pushed back by a pair of sunglasses and you’re dressed in all black with a matching tac vest. Ghost is dressed similarly, all black and all tactical, but the familiar skull plate is replaced by a pair of black sunglasses resting over his painted balaclava. The two of you are facing each other, covered in dirt and grime and what is most likely blood, but you’re beaming up at Ghost like you’ve won the lottery, as he cradles your left hand in his gloveless hands, caught in the process of sliding a solid black ring onto your finger.
The words Ghost & Hornet are scrawled across the bottom in someone’s chicken scratch above a date that's been worn away. 
How long ago was this taken? Why is your callsign Hornet? What did you do before you became the 141 doctor? Who took this picture? If it wasn’t one of you who took it, then who gave it to you? Questions swirl around Soap’s head as he stares down at the picture in his hands. 
“Did you grab that folder?”
Soap drops the frame back into the drawer, kicking it shut with lightning speed as the door swings open and you peek your head inside. 
“Got it right here!” You barely take a step inside your office before he’s meeting you at the door, shoving the file into your hands. “Need anything else?”
“No, that was it,” you smile up at him- a small imitation of that same beaming smile in the picture- taking the file. “Thanks for grabbing it for me.”
“Of course, Doc.” Soap follows you out of your office and the infirmary, watching you continue down the hall before he splits off toward the barracks. 
He respects you and Ghost, respects your privacy, but all the clues and all the hints have piled up into a perfect little mystery waiting to be solved. 
What’s the saying: curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
-
Three weeks turns to six weeks turns to nine weeks turns to twelve.
If Soap never has to see the glittering crystal white of snowfall again, he’ll be glad for it. The mission wasn’t supposed to take this long but, as all missions that take place in the ass end of nowhere seem to do, something went wrong and the team is stuck in the Narsaq mountains. 
Everything was fine after the first delay; the team was frustrated but optimistic for the most part. After the second delay, there were small cases of worry and bickering but everyone was able to stay on track. Things go downhill at the start of month three and by the end of the fourth month, it’s a miracle that any of them are speaking to each other.
Soap drags his feet up the stairs to the base rooftop where Ghost is on watch. He assumes you’re there too; Price had sent you to relieve the Lieutenant not ten minutes ago before deciding two pairs of eyes were better than one and sending Soap up after you. You weren’t happy about it- your hatred of the cold stronger than anyone else’s- and you’d frowned at Price’s orders, stomping your feet the entire way out of the room. Soap could see the irritation rolling off of Price in waves before the Captain uncharacteristically snaps at him to follow you and send Ghost back down.
The rooftop door is held open by a rock, letting the soft flurries of snow drift inside and coat the top four steps. Soap takes those steps carefully, not trusting the rusted railing and the way it grates and shrieks whenever someone leans on it. Bracing himself for the cold, he tucks himself further into his heavy jacket, stepping onto the rooftop and into the ankle-deep snow. He turns to the right and comes to an immediate standstill when he spots you and Ghost. 
You’re both leaning against the broken a/c unit, staring out into the endless white of the mountain range. Ghost’s mask is pushed up to his nose as the two of you pass a cigarette back and forth but he’s shed his jacket, leaving him in a thermal long-sleeved shirt. There’s no mystery as to where the jacket went; you’re happily drowning in the oversized garment, snuggling into the fabric every time you pass the cigarette back to Ghost.
Soap creeps back to the staircase, stepping softly to avoid the crunch of the snow. He peeks outside again, catching you as you watch Ghost take a long drag from the cigarette. He holds the cigarette out to you, keeping his eyes forward; a perfect distraction as you lean forward and press a kiss to the sliver of skin on his wrist peeking out between his glove and shirt sleeve. You pluck the cigarette from his hand, looking back out over the snowcaps with a playful smile- the first smile Soap’s seen on your face in weeks. Ghost shakes his head, pinching your ear when you turn away from him but it’s obvious the way the tension eases from his shoulders. 
Soap chuckles to himself, moving back down the staircase to take a seat at the bottom of the steps as he decides Price can wait a few more minutes.
-
Rough missions are par for the course for the 141, everyone knows it. 
Everyone has their own way of coping, their own personal rituals for decompressing. Before you had joined, Soap had no idea what Ghost did after a particularly hard mission. Staying true to his namesake, the man would simply vanish, appearing hours, sometimes days, later without a word. 
He never explained, and no one ever asked.
It’s still true now, though everyone knows if they really need his whereabouts they can ask you; whether or not you’ll tell them is a different story.
But then there are the missions that stick- the missions where the blood sinks into the skin and stains the bones red. Where dying faces are burned into the backs of their eyelids and imprinted in the parts of the brain that will last long after everything else has faded. Where the chorus of bullets and death rattles drown out all other sounds long after the fight has ended.
Ghost doesn’t bother with pretense after those missions. Instead, he beelines to the infirmary, disappearing into your office where you allow him to stay, keeping the door locked unless you- and only you- need to get something. 
Soap gets it- he’s probably one of the few who do- which is why he does his best to keep his distance from you and your office unless it’s an emergency. 
It’s late when he passes by the infirmary. Exhausted and sore, he shuffles towards his room on his way back from the fitness center- his own way of coping- passing by the infirmary doors. It looks mostly empty, the only light coming through the glass on your office door, and he thinks for a brief moment that he should check on you and ask after Ghost. 
He makes it to your door, taking note of the shade that’s drawn halfway up. He bends slightly to get a clearer view inside, the lamp on your desk the only dim source of light in the room. Ghost sits in one of the chairs in front of your desk with the entirety of his body weight leaning forward against you as you stand between his legs. His head is down, pressed against your stomach and his hands grip tightly onto your hips. 
Soap doesn’t need more light to see the tension wound up in Ghost, the weight of the mission bearing down on his bowed back.
You, on the other hand, are the embodiment of peace, supporting the weight pressed against you, hands running over Ghost’s shoulders and kneading into the tight muscle. Your fingers dip just under the collar of his shirt, skirting across the edges of his mask and you bend your head slightly. Soap can see your mouth moving and Ghost nods to whatever you ask him. 
You gather the bottom of the balaclava in your hands, pushing it up just enough to get your hands underneath and around the base of his skull where you continue kneading into his skin. Ghost melts into you, pressing himself as far into you as he physically can. 
You say something else and Ghost leans his head up to look at you just as you lean down and-
Soap steps back from the window, turning in his heel to head straight out of the infirmary with the affirming knowledge that you’ll both be okay.
-
There was a healthy mix of excitement and apprehension when Price told them they were teaming up with another task force. Guesses were thrown out over who this new team would be, what they’d be like, who’d be the better shot-
(“There’s no way they’ll be a better shot than me!”
“Everyone’s a better shot than you, Johnny.”
“…that hurts, Lt.”)
You don’t take part, letting the team speculate without adding anything yourself. Soap and Gaz try to get your input, teasing you until they think you’ll relent but they get nothing out of you.
Two weeks later, they’re gathered in the briefing room when the doors burst open, followed by the thundering of boots as three strangers in solid black tactical gear swarm you. Soap is on his feet in seconds as the largest one grabs you by the waist to swing you around and you…laugh?
You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? What’s going-
“At ease, Sergeant,” Price laughs, entering behind the boisterous group alongside an unfamiliar woman. The three strangers set you down, the smallest one looping an arm around your shoulders while the man who had picked you up claps Ghost on the shoulder with a wide smile. 
“Missed us, Casper?” 
“Like a knife in the gut,” Ghost deadpans.
It takes a minute for things to settle before Price makes introductions: Sergeant Theodore “Grizzly” Lin, Sergeant Charlotte “Firefly” Bishop, Sergeant Kenneth “Trip” Hale and Captain Juliana Owens. 
Your former team. 
Soap has so many questions, so many things he needs to know, but he doesn’t get the chance after introductions are made as Price and Captain Owens call the room to attention.
The mission sounds simple: your team has the locations of several hidden terrorist cells and will infiltrate and wipe them out with the 141’s help. It’s nothing either team hasn’t done before, but the additional manpower will help to get this done before the enemy decides to move house.
They mesh well with the 141, blending in almost seamlessly on base.
On the field is an entirely different story. 
The 141 works well together, Soap knows that, but your team is on an entirely different level. They operate like a single person, moving with and covering each other without a word- like they were trained to protect each other from birth. Soap isn’t sure what’s more unsettling: the ease with which they hunt down their enemies or how effortlessly you slip into your role alongside them. He knew you could handle yourself, but after watching expertly slice through the jugular of a close-range enemy before twisting your hands around their neck to force the blood from their artery out through your fingers, he realizes how deeply the team has underestimated you.
And if he’s a little scared of you after that mission, he’ll never tell. 
For the three months that your former team occupies the 141 base, Soap takes every opportunity to speak with your old teammates. He gets the most information out of Grizzly; the man is more than eager to brag about your abilities. Trip and Firefly offer occasional information if he asks, but it’s usually too vague for Soap to understand- like some kind of inside joke he’s only partially in on.
He gets a few tidbits from you: Theodore is as cuddly as a teddy but fights like he’s trying to maul his enemies, Charlotte- Charlie, she prefers- is a former fighter pilot with an allegedly long history with arson, and Kent is a mastermind when it comes to trip mines despite being clumsier than a newborn deer. He gets a couple of old mission stories from you too, nothing too detailed, some including Ghost, and all suspiciously absent of your involvement.
 He asks Grizzly one day during a rare moment of downtime when you’re too occupied in your office to stop him-
(“What’s the story with the Doc?”
“Who? Hornet?”
“Why Hornet?”
“You ever seen a hornet in a beehive?”
Soap hasn’t. And judging by the feral smile that splits Grizzly’s face in two, he doesn’t want to.)
The teams go out to celebrate once the mission wraps up. It’s a long night filled with too much alcohol and too little supervision that ends at a run-down bar occupied only by both teams and the bartender. Soap taps out after losing the third round of billiards- even with Grizzly and Trip on his team, Gaz and Firefly still manage to wipe the floor with them every time- heading to the bar to get another beer.
“Cleaning crew cleared out the apartment. Said it looked like a random break-in, but we’re assigning you a new safehouse just to be sure.” Soap’s ears twitch as he hears Captain Owens speak. He glances to his right where you and Ghost sit at a table across from Price and Owens looking too serious for the occasion.
“What about the house?” you ask, folding your arms over your chest.
“No activity, but I’ve got eyes on it,” Owens sighs. 
“You can take some time if you wanna check it out for yourselves,” Price suggests. You and Ghost share a brief look, an entire conversation passed between glances.
“Maybe another time,” you answer with a casual shrug.
“I swear, I’ve never met a couple more averse to spending time together at home than the two of you-” Owens shakes her head, turning to Price with a teasing grin. “You lettin’ my kids have too much fun on your base, John?”
Soap nearly chokes on his beer as you groan, scraping your hands down your face, and Ghost rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t roll back into his head.
Your former Captain knows- that makes sense if he thinks about it- but Price… Soap clearly remembers Price denying any knowledge of your and Ghost’s relationship. If he knew, if it was meant to be a secret, then why give him hints?
Soap is desperate to know more, the alcohol spurring him on as he gathers the questions in his head sorting them by level of importance so he’ll know which to ask first come tomorrow. 
He doesn’t get the chance, as the team departs first thing without a word of goodbye and Price calls everyone in for a new mission.
-
Soap has seen his share of gruesome things, but this is-
They’re gathered around the small monitor, unable to tear their eyes from the screen. The video had been sent to Price with no name attached to it. It’s grainy, most likely recorded on an older camera but the audio…the audio is crystal clear.
And the way your screams echo through the room will haunt them for the rest of their days.
It was an accident. Through pure shitty luck, the team had been separated, then separated again, and once more until everyone was on their own trying to retrieve intel from an empty base that turned out to not be so empty. The intel was retrieved and their opponents made an uncharacteristically hasty exit. It isn’t until exfil arrives and you don’t that they realize what’s happened.
Now, after two months of agonizing silence, they get this.
You’re strapped to a metal chair, beaten and bloody, when one of your captors yanks your head up by your hair. He growls something at you in muffled Russian and when you answer him with silence, he spits in your face. You meet his taunting gaze with a severe glare and the man laughs, letting go of you to call someone else over.
He steps in front of the camera, blocking any view of you, but there’s still a clear view of one of his men approaching you with a cattle prod. The man speaks directly to the camera- directly to the 141- his voice almost drowned out by the buzz of the prod and the scream you let out. 
The video ends there, fading into jumbled static before starting over again.
“It’s proof of life,” Price sighs, shutting the monitor off. “They’re offering a trade. Intel for the doctor.”
“Can we trace it?” Gaz asks. 
“Laswell’s working on it.”
The room falls into silence and Soap can’t help but look at Ghost. He appears calm, standing still with his gaze focused on the monitor, but Soap knows better. There’s nothing in those eyes, Ghost’s mind completely vacant, an empty shell of a man stuck standing before them. With nothing more to add, Ghost turns, walking out of the room without a word- a true statement to his name.
He’s been like this since you disappeared- disassociating so hard he might as well have been taken with you. He broke out of it once, when Gaz suggested changing your status from MIA to KIA. 
Gaz’s black eye took almost three weeks to heal and Ghost vanished from the base until it did, returning without an apology and a tension that followed him into every room. 
It takes another agonizing week before Laswell comes back with anything, but she delivers more than enough information. Price is barely off the phone with her when the team is gearing up to go and find you.
And, oh, when they find you-
Soap isn’t sure there’s a need for the entire team as Ghost tears a warpath through their enemies. There’s no words, no mercy, no stopping as he cuts down person after person after person. He’s coated in gore and viscera, thick crimson a stark contrast to the bone white of his mask, hands dripping with enemy blood- an angel of death coming to collect. 
Soap finds you first while clearing a room as Ghost bludgeons one of the guards to death in the hallway.
You’re huddled in a corner of the cell, leaning against the grimy wall curled in on yourself. Soap lowers his gun, approaching cautiously as though you’re a wild animal, speaking softly, “Doc?”
Soap jumps back as you lunge for him, swinging what looks to be a piece of broken glass. He can feel the sharp sting as you catch his arm, taking several steps back until he’s almost out the door. You move back, pressing yourself against the wall with your hands up; your fingers so tightly squeezed around the shard in your hand, Soap can see the fresh blood sliding down your palm. 
“Easy, easy,” he coaxes, hands up, palms facing out as he calls back over his shoulder. “Ghost!”
The man materializes out of thin air, nudging Soap out of the way as he takes in the scene before him. You look like hell, dressed down in a torn shirt and pants with one eye swollen shut and covered in so much dried blood that they can’t tell where your injuries are. 
Slowly, Ghost takes a step into the cell.
“Don’t!” you yell, voice hoarse. “Nor- Norilsk, six years ago. We were…we were on a mission and one of our team was KIA. What was the last thing he said to us?” Ghost takes a careful step forward, bloody hands raised.
“Should’ve had that last drink,” Ghost speaks lowly, inching towards you. “Barely got it out through the blood but he never stopped smiling.” 
He gets close enough to reach out to you, hands gently wrapping around yours as he eases you into letting go of the glass. It clatters to the floor, snapping in half against the moldy concrete.
“I-I didn’t tell them anything.”
“I know.”
“They tried to get me to, but- but I didn’t-”
“I know.”
“I fought back.”
“I know, love.”
Ghost maneuvers you forward until you’re pressed against his chest, forehead digging into the hard pockets of his tac vest. Soap turns his back, giving the two of you a moment and keeping watch. He can hear Ghost’s low murmurs and the rattling of your voice.
You meet up with Gaz and Price ten minutes later, when you’ve collected yourself enough to separate yourself from Ghost. You roll your shoulders back, biting back the pain to stand as tall as you can. Price sets a hand on your shoulder, giving it a soft, comforting squeeze.
Are you okay?
You reach back where Ghost stands directly behind you. His hand finds yours, squeezing three times. You squeeze back once, then twice, then three times before letting go. You give your best smile, feeling the comforting weight of Ghost behind you as you nod at Price.
I will be.
5K notes · View notes
pedgito · 2 years
Note
Okay here me out!! Eddie and bestfriend reader are hanging out just chilling in his room like any other day but our back is killing us so he's on top of us giving our back a massage. Our shirt rides up so now he's massaging bare skin and listening to our goans of satisfaction. He obviously pops a boner and you know one thing leads to the other very nsfw in the same position tho us on our tummy him on top SOUNDS LIKE FUN!!!
author’s note: this is uh…yeah. just purely self indulgent smut so pls enjoy my nsfw ramblings mwah. if there's typos in this, no there's not. it's 11pm and i'm exhausted.
cw: 18+ (minors dni), fem!reader, mentions of smoking and being high, steamy sex, they’re both two consenting adults don’t worry, sex from behind, dirty talk, slight hair pulling, fingering, ect. let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 2.5k
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It doesn’t take any persuading to get Eddie in the position he is now, knees settled on either side of you, sat perfectly against your thighs, hands resting in the dip just above your ass, the tiniest shorts in existence doing nothing to block the heat of Eddie’s hands as his fingers dug into the skin. If Wayne were to chance walking in, you both wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Eddie’s heavy above you, no other option to lay there and enjoy the magic that were his fingers; knowing his way around a guitar and a few taut muscles. It almost hurts, the way his fingers dig into the skin—but the relief, the literal unwinding of your tense back muscles has you moaning out against your pillow, where your head rested.
Eddie snorts in laughter, “Like that?” He teases, voice flirtatious out of habit. It wasn’t strange for him to act this way, it came with the package of knowing Eddie; he was so naturally charming that he couldn’t help it. You feel your heart flutter at the words, smiling into your forearm.
“Mhm,” You hum, nodding your head gently. He watches the back of your head bob, spreading the length of his hands over the sides of your waist, digging into the flesh there, leaning forward slightly to apply pressure, absently rubbing the front of his jeans against the curve of your ass.
He doesn’t say anything, almost like he can’t be bothered to notice. The assault of his hands continue, too fucking satisfying to ask him to stop now; you wouldn’t even if you needed to. He was a fucking smoke show, despite his constant denial, you knew exactly what Eddie was all about.
Selfless but selfish, indulging in the things he cared about but always worrying about the feelings of others. So undoubtedly considerate in his relationship with others, he was the kind of person you could rely on, love, see yourself spending the rest of your life with—romantically or platonically. It didn’t matter to you.
But with his hands on you now, one blunt into the night, that haze in your brain was pointing all signs of ‘god, i’m so fucking horny right now’ and you’ll be damned if you have to starve yourself of that feeling. Eddie feels it too, with how eagerly he jumped at the chance to touch your bare skin, dig his fingers into the soft, meaty flesh—that, and it gave the perfect view of your ass.
And you’re not sure when his hands stop, the only real contact he was making was the shallow thrust of his hips against your backside, far enough away that it wasn’t at all satisfying. It was torture.
He’s lost his train of thought, eyes nearly shut as his hands linger but never move, he doesn’t even feel in control of his own body.
“Eddie,” You speak softly, head turned back to look at him, though the angle was strained. He gives a small ‘huh’, eyes half lidded as he finally makes eye contact with you, “still with me?”
“Sorry,” He says, clearing his throat of the muck the smoke had left behind, his high peaking at this point, having been a while since you’d both finished off the joint, “you know how it gets when we smoke, sometimes.”
You know all too well; the exploring hands, kisses stolen in-between shared thoughts and words, the way Eddie would beg and beg to have his head between your thighs, just to get a small taste of you—the mix of weed and whatever ecstasy Eddie was trying to taste as he devour your cunt, greedily licking up every last drop of you.
You two never talked about it. It just was.
He enjoyed the way you’d take him in his mouth, almost lazily, still showing just how good it could feel outside the boundaries of his own hands, letting him fuck into your mouth earnestly.
It never got the point of fucking, though, ever.
It was the one boundary you both knew came with consequences, small or large, that needed to be talked about. But right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care, seeing the desperate expression on his face.
He’s never wanted to fuck someone so badly.
“I’m so fucking hard right now,” Eddie says honestly, chancing a glance down at the zipper of his jeans, his dick straining uncomfortably against the constricting material, “don’t mean to be, sweetheart.”
“What do you want, Eddie?” You ask gently, voice soft as his hands rise higher, almost touching the underside of your breasts where they’re pressed against the mattress.
“You.” He sighs openly, leaning his body over the expanse of yours, covering your back like a blanket. He’s so drunk off his own desperate need to for release that he’s grinding against your ass, harsher this time. The thick material of his jeans is uncomfortable against the silk of your shorts and if he really wanted to do this, he was going to do it correctly, that way it was enjoyable for both of you.
“Take your pants off.” You urge—and you can’t believe the speed at which he races to discard of the unnecessary clothing. You make an attempt to turn, but you’re stopped by the touch of his palm, pressed against the middle of your back.
“No, like this,” He insists, adjusting your ass until it’s positioned where he likes, cover bunched up underneath you for support. Despite his hazy brain, he still had the sense to be sweet, “you look so pretty like this.”
And he’s speaking nonsense, you think.
“Such a cute little ass.” He smiles satedly, hands gripping at the flesh gently, the front of his boxers pressing against you, the hard line of his dick was a shock to your system, despite being ready for it.
And you want to tilt your hips, assist in the grind of his dick against the clothed curve of your ass, help him reach whatever release he was after.
Sometimes he wanted quick and fast; the senseless type of orgasm that left you both gasping for breath after. Other times it was slow, moaning into each other’s mouths as you found that ecstasy together.
He grunts softly, almost frustrated. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” You ask, your hand gliding against the outside of his palm where it had a steady grip on your hip.
“Not enough,” He pouts dismally, movements stopping slightly, “God, I just wanna—“ He takes a deep breath through his nose, eyes falling closed as he thinks on his next words, “I really wanna fuck you, sweetheart.”
And the words are like a weight lifted off your shoulders, like hearing him say it made the decision so much easier; not afraid to cross that boundary anymore. You wanted it just as much as he did.
“Okay,” You nod slowly, turned slightly to look back at him, and he looks so fucking sweet, the way his eyes soften at the sight of you, “yeah, if you really want to.”
Eddie doesn’t waste much time, pulling at the thin material of your shorts and panties in one go, lingering on the sight of your bare ass, “Even better like this.” He says, admiring the way your neck blushed at the comment.
“Condom, Eddie.” You remind him, high but not high enough to remember that you definitely did not need the aspect of any unnecessary and unwanted surprises showing up in your life. He fetches the small foil wrapper from his bedside table, you try to ignore the jumbo size box stuffed in there.
That was a question for another time.
Eddie doesn’t spend time trying to strip any further, leaving you naked from the waist down, and pulling his boxers down just enough so they’re tucked under his balls, enough room to allow him to get where he needed.
He’s eager with how quickly his fingers slip through your folds, gathering up the embarrassing amount of slick against his fingers, making a small noise of acknowledgment before saying, “Always so fucking wet, aren’t you?”
Normally, you could keep it together, comeback something with a bit more snark, but you could only offer a small ‘uh huh’, letting one of his thick digits sink inside of you, so deprived of anything inside you for the past few months that your pussy squeezes around his finger greedily.
He sets a gentle pace, curling his finger as he went, a consistent pump in and out of you, before he’s slipping in another finger—it’s a beautiful stretch, causing you to gasp out, keening back against his hand. “Fuck, those fingers—“
“Made for you,” He comments absently, fingers working you open so easily, like this was normal for the both of you; and while some of it was, this was still all so new, “always so greedy, yeah?”
And you’re not sure if he’s talking to you directly, but you answer a weak ‘yes’ anyways.
He works you over until you’re panting, begging for him to put you out of your misery, feeling deplorable with how much he enjoyed teasing you.
“Just fuck me already, please.” You snark impatiently, throwing the wrapper back at him.
He quickly rips it open with his teeth, removing and rolling the thin latex over himself, adjusting most of his weight on one arm as he uses the tip of his cock to glide through your folds, not wasting any time as he slides in, almost buried to the hilt.
If you weren’t so blasted out of your mind, you would’ve fought him over it, but you could sense how eager he was to be buried inside of you.
He groans loudly, the grasp on your hips tighter than before, nearly bruising. He rocks his hips testingly, listening closely to the small gasps that escape your lips, almost too quiet—he can’t have that, he wants to hear you fall apart so badly.
“Never thought it would be this good, sweetheart.” He says honestly, the slow and steady rock of his hips leaving you grasping at the downy comforter, face shoved into the blanket to stifle your moans. “I mean, that pussy’s always been sweet—but it just takes me so well.”
“Yeah?” You answer pathetically, a small hiccup as he thrusts into you particularly rough.
“Wish you could see it,” He says, watching the way your cunt swallows him up, so mesmerized by what the fuck was happening that he has to take a moment, eyes rolling back into his head as he sits with the feeling, your soft moans like music to his ears, “taking me so well, baby.”
And that really shouldn’t affect you the way it does, but your pussy clenches around him at the endearment, causing Eddie to curse out, delivering another rough thrust into you.
“So good,” He murmurs, body now leaned over you almost completely, fucking into you with earnest, the slide of his body against yours, warm and sticky skin against yours—it was overwhelming in all the best ways.
You reach behind you, desperate to hold onto a piece of him; anything. Your hand finds his hair, grabbing loosely on a handful of strands, his mouth ghosting over the back of your neck as he groans, his hands digging into the pillow on either side of your head.
You never had any exceptions on what it would be like to be fucked by Eddie, sober or not—but it’s indescribable, so many emotions hitting you all at once, and you want to cry from the absolute sheer amount of pleasure you’re body was taking, but also because Eddie was so fucking soft, while still managing that primal need he had.
“Always dreamt of fucking you.” He says without thinking.
And maybe that could ruin your friendship. But, maybe it wouldn’t. You answer with a pathetic moan, another broken sob. “Yeah?” You force out, “Just like this?”
“Every way,” He admits, hand sneaking around to your front, over the sensitive bud of your clit. It’s the first time he’s showed it any attention all night, but you can’t find it in you to complain, gasping at the quick, tight circles he makes, “any way.”
“I’m close, Eddie—“ You warn, hips bucking desperately against his hand as he continues to fuck into you, hips quick and sloppy, on the precipice of his own orgasm.
“Yeah? Gonna come with me, sweetheart?” It isn’t meant to sound like a challenge, but you take it that way, nodding quickly.
His thrusts are wild, pounding into you so relentlessly that you don’t even have time to catch your breath, the two fingers pressed against your clit, quick and precise motions—that’s what sends you over the edge.
“Fuck,” Eddie swears, the last clench of your walls against his cock was all he needed, spilling into the condom, still buried inside you. He holds you close, letting you ride the wave of your own orgasm, nearly in tears by how hard it hits you.
“I’m okay.” You let him know, once you’ve sufficiently recovered, groaning in protest at the feeling of him slipping out of you, discarded the condom in the trash at the corner of his room.
You reach for you shorts, ready to hightail it out of there and get home, much like you usually did after these situations. But, Eddie wasn’t going to let that happen. Not this time.
He shakes his head, making a soft noise as he grabs into your wrist, motioning for you to lay back down, finding your way into the nook of his arm, settled closely against his clothed chest.
“You’re not getting away that quickly,” He complains, kicking his blanket up until it’s covering you both, “I still want to hang out.”
It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, the concept of hanging out now completely out the window, at least it seemed that way. But again, Eddie didn’t care—carrying on with conversation like normal, like he hadn’t just fully wrecked every thought process you’d had, body so fucked out that all you could was lay there, pliant to him.
“We gotta smoke like that more often.” You joke, giggling softly, eyes glancing up to stare into his own deep, brown ones.
“Sweetheart, I can fuck you like that whenever you want—I don’t need to be high.” He points out and you could almost kiss him. Almost.
“We’ll see about.” You reply back coyly, fingers dancing up the side expanse of his chest, thumb catching at the bottom of his lip, which he bites teasingly.
It only takes about a half hour before Eddie has you spread out over his lap, fucking up into you lazily.
“I gotta ask,” You say, breaking the blanket of silence, “Why do you have so many condoms?”
Not to say that Eddie wasn’t pulling—he had to be, but it seemed like overkill.
“Wayne really hates the idea of kids. He just wants me to be safe.”
You snort, and somehow that still doesn’t kill the mood, only sending you into a short fit of laughter. Eddie quickly fucks it out of you though, sending you down the path of your second orgasm that night.
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parkerslatte · 2 months
Text
Finding Home || Part Two
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Azriel x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: none
Summary: After spending the whole night talking with Y/N, Azriel is summoned to Rhys’s office where he has a very particular set of mission for him.
Finding Home Masterlist
A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist
•••
The morning after Azriel left Y/N’s apartment, he left with a wide smile on his face. It felt nice to have a conversation with someone that wasn’t constantly surrounded by their mate or have a child run up to them halfway through the conversation and completely take their attention away. For the first time in a while, Azriel was fully relaxed while having a conversation. Even as he made his way to Rhys’s office, he still held that relaxation within his body. Even if he had fallen asleep on her sofa with his wings tucked tightly to his body, the shadowsinger had never slept so soundly. The only thing that awoke him was the tap of Rhys against his mental shields demanding his attention. 
Azriel knocked on the door to Rhys’s office and faintly heard him calling him in. Azriel stepped inside and found Rhys sitting at his desk looking exhausted. Usually Rhys took pride in his appearance but as he sat behind his desk still in his satin pyjamas, Azriel couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh. 
“Long night?” Aziel commented, sitting in the chair opposite. 
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Rhys answered. 
Normally Azriel would ask him what kept him up all night but this time he didn’t, only knowing that it would be one of two answers. Feyre or Nyx. Deciding not to ask, Azriel instead asked a different question. “Why did you ask me to come here?”
Why did you pull me away from the one place I could truly be relaxed? That was the question Azriel really wanted to ask.
“Ah, that,” Rhys said. “Well we were all worried about you last night.”
“Oh,” Azriel said, deflating a little in his chair. 
“You were there one moment and when Elain turned around to ask if you wanted to hold Hycinth again, you were gone,” Rhys said. 
The suspicions Azriel had about no one noticing he left were confirmed. Azriel could always escape somewhere undetected but late night he made sure that his footsteps were heard. He made sure he opened the front door a little louder than normal. And he made sure to close it with more force than necessary. If anyone was paying any attention they would have easily heard that he had left. Clearly no one was paying any attention to him at all. 
“I just wanted to go home,” Azriel answered. “Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.”
“Weren’t you enjoying yourself?” Rhys countered.
There was a brief moment of hesitation from Azriel before he answered. “I was, I was just tired. I hadn’t had much sleep the night before.” It was a bad lie and Azriel knew it. Rhys could immediately see through the lie too, but to save Azriel from explaining himself further, Rhys didn’t question him on it. 
“Was that all you needed?” Azriel asked. 
“No,” Rhys said and threw a file across the desk to Azriel.
“What is this? Another mission,” Azriel asked, picking it up.
“Of sorts,” Rhys said.
Azriel opened the file and stared at it, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “‘Have a beach day?’, ‘Feed the ducks?’, ‘Go to the theatre?’. What is this, Rhys?” 
“These are personal missions for you,” Rhys answered. “Myself, as well as Cassian and the others have all noticed how absent you have been recently–”
“I have been on missions–”
“Not physically,” Rhys said. “Mentally. You barely talk to anyone unless you are spoken to. You don’t tease Cassian for a stupid comment he makes. You don’t even play with Nyx as much as you used to. Last night he asked why you don’t take him to the park anymore.”
“I–” Azriel cut himself off because he didn’t have an answer. Everything Rhys said was true.
“These missions are for you to try and enjoy yourself,” Rhys explained. “Do them in whatever order you like, but in three months' time, if I don’t see all of them ticked off, I won’t be very happy, Azriel.”
Azriel looked down at the list. There were thirty things on it ranging from small things like cooking a meal for himself to large things like jumping from the tallest mountain in The Night Court and seeing how long it takes for him to open his wings to fly.
Azriel rolled his eyes. “Rhys, I don’t need to do these things. I am perfectly fine.” Another lie. Rhys once again didn’t mention it. 
“Three months, Azriel,” Rhys said and stood from his chair. “Now, I have my mate waiting for me upstairs. We have about twenty minutes before Nyx wakes up.”
Azriel didn’t respond with a teasing remark like he usually does. Of course Rhys can’t even stay for a moment longer to just talk to Azriel. If he had only decided to stay for a few moments longer, Azriel might have opened up to him. All Azriel did was stare at the file in front of him, failing to notice Rhys’s lingering gaze on him before we swiftly left his office. 
Three months to do thirty tasks and most of them were downright stupid. Though Azriel had to admit that some of them sounded appealing, he guessed that those would have been either Feyre, Nesta or Elain’s idea. Azriel would prefer if Rhys sent him on a mission, preferably a long one. Then he maybe wouldn’t need to spend every waking moment around happy and in love couples. 
With a sigh, Azriel stood to his feet and allowed his shadows to encase him, taking him somewhere else. 
***
Y/N stepped out of her apartment and into the cool air, her thick scarf wrapped around her neck. She was tired and had a dull ache in her neck from falling asleep on her sofa at an awkward angle. Though she wouldn’t have changed one moment from her night. Y/N never would have thought that being in the company of the shadowsinger would be pleasant but it had to be one of her favourite Solstice’s. No large spectacle, just two friends– if that is what Y/N could call their relationship– sitting together and talking. 
The air was cold and Y/N wrapped her coat tighter around her body. It was a large effort from Y/N to leave her apartment, the only driving force was her needing milk and she regretted not picking it up the previous night when she bumped into Azriel. 
She wondered how he was doing. When he woke that morning he seemed deflated and in a rush to leave. Of course he reassured her that it was nothing to do with her. In fact, he told her that the night they had spent just sitting and talking was the best night he had had in a while. When he rushed out that morning, Y/N wanted to call out to him to ask if he wanted to get a coffee or something similar. But as she went to speak the words died on her tongue, it was too much like asking him on a date. 
As Y/N stepped away from the door of her apartment, she collided with a firm chest and a familiar scent surrounded her. Strong arms shot out to keep her upright before being retracted away quickly as if touching her had burnt. 
“Y/N,” Azriel’s smooth voice chimed through the air around her. He still wore the same clothes he had left in only hours before. This time he held a file in his hand that she knew he didn’t have when he left her apartment. 
“I’m sorry for startling you,” he apologised. “I didn’t even mean to come back here.”
Y/N’s shoulders slumped the smallest amount at Azriel’s revelation. He hadn’t wanted to come back to her. Maybe not asking him for coffee was a good idea.
“It’s okay,” Y/N said, trying not to let the disappointment lace her tone. “Did you leave anything inside? I can get it for you.”
“No, no,” Azriel said. “And I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to come back here. I did want to believe me. I just didn’t think I would come back here unconsciously.” There was a slight blush adorning Azriel’s cheeks that made Y/N laugh. His head shot up at the sound. 
“What?” He asked, a small smile spreading across his face.
“It’s cute when you are flustered,” Y/N said, which only caused the blush on his cheeks to deepen. “So, what’s up with the file? It looks…official.”
Azriel scoffed quietly. “It’s far from that.”
Azriel thrust the file forward and Y/N took it hesitantly. “Should I even be reading this? I’m not exactly part of this court’s politics.”
“Just read it,” Azriel said, his voice soft. 
Y/N opened the file and she immediately started to chuckle. “‘Feed a duck’?”
Azriel groaned. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s funny,” Y/N replied and continued to look down the list. “What exactly is this for?”
“Rhys and the others thought it would be a good idea for me to enjoy myself because they have noticed I have distanced myself lately,” Azriel explained. 
Y/N raised her gaze from the paper in front of her to Azriel’s. His eyes bore into hers and she could feel the frustration residing in them. 
“I don’t see how any of this is going to help,” Azriel said. “All of these tasks are pointless.”
“Some of them seem fun,” Y/N tried to reason. 
“On my own?” Azriel replied. “The whole reason why I’ve been feeling like this is because I feel alone. It is because I have no one to do anything with. Now they have set me tasks that make sure I am on my own.”
“I can do them with you,” Y/N answered quickly, not thinking about Azriel’s possible responses. 
A look of surprise briefly flashed across Azriel’s face before it returned to his neutral one. His eyes jumped from Y/N’s to the file in her hands. “You don’t need to do them with me. It’s my mission and I won’t drag you along with me.”
Y/N smiled. “I wouldn’t class feeding the ducks as a mission, Azriel. And most of these seem fun. ‘Have a beach day’? I’ve never been to a beach. Oh, and go to the theatre! I love the theatre! These are fun, Azriel!”
Azriel rolled his eyes, though Y/N could see him trying to fight away a smile. “Would you really do them with me? You only met me last night.”
Y/N shrugged. “Well they seem fun and this is the perfect way for us to get to know one another.”
Azriel looked at the file in her hands and he allowed the smile he had been fighting away to  break out on his face. Y/N felt her insides melt at the sight. His smile lit up his whole face. Any feeling that had been present on his face before instantly vanished and was replaced by undeniable happiness.
“Thank you for doing this with me, Y/N,” Azriel said sincerely. “So where should we start?”
Y/N pointed to number seven on the list. “Number seven, get some coffee.”
Azriel smiled before taking the file away from Y/N and folded it away, he offered his arm to Y/N and she took it. It felt natural. 
“Lead the way, shadowsinger,” Y/N replied and the two were off down the street. The milk Y/N originally set off to purchase was completely abandoned.
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Taglist:
@justdreamstars @naturakaashi @thesunloveschips @hijabi-desi-bookworm
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loaksky · 1 year
Text
— 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 [𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦]
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the lowdown — the one where neteyam is too blinded by duty to realize what he has right in front of him. 
the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader
the word count  — 5.6k (this isn't even a drabble anymore).
the tags & warnings — language, more emotional constipation, mentions of blood & injury, childhood friends(?)2l, unrequited love, angst w a semi-happy / openish ending.
the notes  — based off of this request & this one ! let’s pretend the trees of souls didn’t get burned down in the first movie :) 
masterlist
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You were an odd thing, curious, maybe a little strange, but like learning anything, everyone had grown accustomed to your weird little habits. Everyone except for Neteyam, the clan leader’s son. And the weird habit in question was poorly-expressed words of adoration that seemed to meld into unconventional confessions as you got older. 
It started when you two were eight, perhaps nine. The two of you were in a village elder’s tent, learning the best ways to debone fish to prepare for meals when she’d ducked out for a moment and left the two of you in a cloud of uncomfortable silence. 
Neteyam’s fingers were nimble, swift, while you lagged behind, eyes fluttering to the way he seemed to grasp the elder’s instruction with more ease than you. 
“We should always be together,” you’d said absently, still fiddling with the same fish while Neteyam moved onto the next. “I will be useless to our family without you.” 
Neteyam’s spine had gone rigid, gaze wide as he side-eyed you from his seat. 
“Huh?” He’d clearly been caught off guard, ministrations on the catch frozen as his eyebrows furrowed. 
“When we are married,” you’d said, holding the bone structure of your first fish triumphantly.
“Married?” he parroted shrilly, fully turning to face you. 
You looked up from your task, nodding like it was the most common of knowledge.
“Yes, Neteyam,” you affirmed, chuffing a small laugh. “In the future, when we are married.” 
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Neteyam wouldn’t have been so off put had the comment been a one time thing, but they were frequent, spoken both in the quiet of much-dreaded time alone with you and hushed whispers in the midst of the other villagers your age. 
It wasn’t any help that his parents seemed to always set the two of you up in many endeavors over the course of your adolescence. And he’d tried, tried so hard to shake you over the years, but you were glued to his hip. 
You look handsome today, you’d say often, regardless. Training is paying off, whispered in his ear as your fingertips smoothe over the skin of his biceps. I hope the little ones grow to be as mighty as you are, spoken after sessions in the archery circle. The comments are all fleeting, mentioned in passing like a casual word, but they make Neteyam warm, make his cheeks heat when he searches your face for any betrayal of emotion. 
But all he’s met with is an expression that borders smug, one that makes him wonder why, out of all of the boys growing into fine young men over the course of your adolescence, had you picked him to be the object of your affections. 
Try as he might, to be short-tempered, callous, you were always there. He sought the attention of other women, tried to put as many bodies between the two of you, but you were relentless, smiled gently when you’d catch his wandering hands against the skin of another, would turn a blind eye when his lips brushed too intimately over eager ears.
At first he figured that maybe it was because he was the first boy you’d encountered and it’d just been the way the cards were dealt. At times he thought you were messing with him, a long-running joke between you and some unknown entities to fuck around with his feelings. His current theory, however, is one that he sits more confidently on when he begins observing you. 
You spend an awful amount of time not only tailing him, but tailing his family, pestering Kiri and Lo’ak about god knows what, spending many afternoons schmoozing with his parents, seeking guidance from Mo’at. 
He comes to the conclusion, after some time, that you’re trying to solidify your place within his family, trying to secure your role next to him as the future leader of the clan. This much is confirmed when his parents bring up the sore topic of you one night once everyone has turned in after the evening meal. 
“The time for your selection feast is arriving,” Neytiri says hesitantly, like she’s treading on thin ice. 
Neteyam has an inkling where this conversation will go when Jake shifts to sit next to his partner, the perfect picture of what a love that transcends all should look like. But he doesn’t know love, just knows preparing for his future and what ruling the clan will look like. 
“Yeah,” Neteyam agrees. 
“Do you have someone in mind?” Jake prods, busying himself by toying with his songchord. 
To his dismay, you briefly eclipse his mind, the annoyingly beautiful girl he’d grown up with but, even a decade later, still can’t seem to get a good read on.
“No,” he answers slowly. 
His parents seem to chew on this for a moment, glancing at each other momentarily before Neytiri draws in a deep breath and focuses her attention on her oldest son all over again. 
“Well…your father and I believe that perhaps ________ could be a good choice.”
It’s like a bomb detonates, but the aftershocks are only seen in the way Neteyam’s lips purse and his brows furrow. 
He’s not one to go against his parents, but he’ll be damned if he has to spend forever with you. 
“No,” he repeats, but with time with vindication. 
Jake looks stunned, back straightening as he takes his son in with wary eyes.
“No?” 
“No,” Neteyam reiterates. “I would rather spend my life alone than spend it with her.” 
“Neteyam,” Neytiri sighs. 
“I’m sorry, Mom, I won’t,” he says firmly, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he glances between both of his parents, hoping, wishing that maybe they’ll see that this isn’t a good idea.
“Maitan, you don’t understand,” Neytiri says softly. “When you and ________ were born, Ewya gave us a sign.”
Neteyam’s blood runs cold. 
“So this has already been decided?” he asks, voice eerily steady. 
“Not necessarily,” Jake interjects. “We didn’t want you two to feel like you were being forced to be together so we hoped that encouraging you both to spend time together would allow something to develop…” 
“But they haven’t, so now it’s a not-so-silent push,” he says shortly. 
His parents share another look and he feels annoyance beginning to form in his gut. 
“We wouldn’t say that there aren’t any feelings there,” Neytiri says. 
Neteyam breathes a humorless laugh as he shakes his head in disbelief.
“I don’t feel anything for her,” he says with finality. “Nothing about a union with her piques my interest. We’ve been in close proximity since birth but my heart feels more for the trees in the forest than it ever will for ________.” 
Jake squeezes his eyes shut. 
“Have you thought about giving her a chance?” he pushes. “She’s a lovely girl, really likes you.” 
That draws another huff of humorless laughter from Neteyam. 
“The only thing she’s interested in is status and being tsahik,” Neteyam scoffs. “There is nothing there.” 
Neytiri opens her mouth to say something, but Neteyam has mustered up as polite an excuse as he can as he stands to his feet and bows his head to his parents. 
When he ducks from the tent, he doesn’t expect to see you lingering outside of the exit.
His face morphs as the quiet words leave your lips. 
“You doubt my affections for you.” It’s a statement and a question wrapped in one, but you’re resigned, like always, and Neteyam can’t seem to grasp what you’re trying to get at clinging to him, to whatever this dynamic is. 
“What’s this game you’re playing?” he accuses, eyes narrowed. 
“What game?” you ask, gaze unfaltering as you stare up at him with those round golden eyes. 
He lets out a frustrated sigh. 
“Our entire lives, from being kids to now, you’ve toyed with me,” he says fiercely. “With this idea of us. Why? I’ve given you no reasons to be fond of me, yet you’re always here, there, everywhere.” 
“I have much to be fond of,” is your simple answer and Neteyam could groan in frustration. 
“Like what? Being the olo’eyktan’s son? Holding the future of this clan in my hands?” he asks sharply. 
“I would love you, circumstances withstanding,” you respond. “You don’t have to be afraid.” 
Love. 
What an odd concept, weird. One that Neteyam can’t seem to wrap his mind around when it comes to you. Doesn’t think he ever will. 
“Afraid of what?” he bites. 
“Of loving me back,” you say. 
He grimaces like the very thought disgusts him, like you’re an aversion he desperately wants to rid of. And perhaps you are, you realize, seeing years of pent up frustration and anger culminating into one big wound ready to rupture. 
“You think I love you?” he asks incredulously. 
He doesn’t miss the way you shrink, blinking quickly. 
“If you gave us a chance, maybe,” you whisper.
It sounds like the conversation with his parents all over again and realization seems to shutter across his features as he looks down at you. 
“How long have you known?” 
“Known what?” you ask quietly. 
“How long have you known that they’re trying to force us to be together?” he asks. 
You’re silent for a moment before muttering something under your breath. 
“What?” he snaps.
“They aren’t forcing us,” you clear your throat. “Not me, at least.” 
He scoffs. 
“Of course,” he mocks. “Because it only matters what you want out of this. Not that for the last decade I’ve been trying to get you to back off, trying to get you to understand that I don’t want this. I don’t want us, and if it means forfeiting my responsibilities, then so be it.” 
It’s a lofty statement, one that seals the last nail on your coffin. 
You’d loved Neteyam for as long as you can remember, have probably liked him for longer. When your parents told you early on that Eywa had given both of your families a sign that you and Neteyam were meant for one another, you’d embraced the idea wholeheartedly. Loved the idea of loving him even through moments when he’d try to drive a wedge between the two of you. 
Give him time, your parents had said to you. Jake and Neytiri want his feelings to develop naturally. 
And you waited. God, you waited, for so long. Waited for him to come around, to realize the things he did to you. Perhaps you had been too presumptuous, thinking that he’d be able to read you behind such a stoic facade, afraid that if you revealed too much of your wanting, you’d turn him off from the idea of being with you. 
But as you stand here before him, small under such a burning gaze, you realize that it’d been wishful thinking. Choosing him meant nothing if he didn’t choose you back. 
“I see…” you trail off quietly.
“Do you?” he asks, tone facetious. 
You nod once, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to see that his expression twitches the tiniest amount when he clocks the way your body seems to deflate.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.” 
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His following days are quiet, filled with personal duties and commitments to the clan. He’d expected you to sleep off the night’s confrontation, he certainly had, a twinge of guilt searing his gut.
But you’re good at hiding, good at masking your feelings, good at disappearing. It doesn’t bother him at the beginning, figuring that you need your space, but then it’s a dull ache that ebbs into a grating gnaw as his every other thought flits to you and what you could be doing now that you’ve settled such a wide distance between himself and his family. 
“You are injured a lot more these days,” Mo’at observes, slathering the viscous mixture over a cut between his shoulder blades. 
He remains silent, doesn’t know how to admit that he’d been far more reckless these past few days in the hopes that he’d run into you in his grandmother’s quarters. A silent yearn to feel your skilled fingers work over his wounds, tender as you try to pry your way into his heart. 
Mo’at had been the one you spent the most time with, diligently training in the chance that Neteyam would finally see you, would make you his. But right now, you’re nowhere to be found and all he’s rewarded with is his grandmother’s rough hands and inquisitive gaze.
“She made this salve,” Mo’at says, filling the silence with idle talk. “Found a recipe that speeds healing and softens the skin.” 
“Did she?” Neteyam responds absently, imagining you picking and pruning the herbs yourself, frame languid as you move through the brush. 
“Said she didn’t want her lover to have such tough skin.” 
There’s laughter in his grandmother’s voice, but he can’t find it in himself to see the humor in the situation. Not when he’s beginning to see that maybe he’s not just another rung in the ladder for you, that duty is the most miniscule drop in your bucket.  
“Where’s ________?” he asks after a moment, hissing through his teeth when his grandmother’s fingers prod the wound. 
“Taking a break from her studies to assist Ama with the children,” she answers, and he misses the knowing look in her eyes. She pats his shoulder when she’s done patching him up. “She’s a fine young woman, Neteyam. Many of the villagers do not turn a blind eye to that fact. If she is not the one that your heart desires, give her the opportunity to align with one that does.” 
It makes something ugly, green, roil in the pit of his stomach at the idea of you being the subject of houndish eyes. You’re too reserved, too sweet, too devoted to be anyone else’s. 
And the thought floors him, makes the knot growing obnoxiously in his throat choke the air from his lungs. 
“Yeah,” he agrees in a whisper. 
And he knows that his grandmother is right. Knows that he shouldn’t be asking about you, doesn’t have the right to hold you hostage if the union is something that truly unsettles him. But the thought of letting go of whatever the two of you have is surprisingly indigestible. 
Neteyam is frustrated, thoroughly disoriented now that all he can think of is you. He’d tried everything under the sun to shake you, to get you to throw your cards in first, but now that you have, it’s like you tug on a string tethered to his hellish heart. 
He stands to his feet and turns to face Mo’at, giving a respectful nod before exiting the tent. 
It’s wrong, he knows it, seeking you out after burning every bridge between the two of you, but he can’t help it. Can’t help but enter the clearing in the forest carved through with a stream that the little ones play in. 
You’re exactly where his grandmother had said you were, sitting near the edge of the bubbling waters with Ama, a girl a few years your senior. The children are giggling, laughing as they splash each other, splash you. The expression on your face falters a little, stern as you adjust the netting strapped to your chest. 
The air is trapped in his lungs as he realizes. Sees the little head that peeks from the top of the fabric, ear pressed to your heart as you cover the baby’s head from the children’s gleeful laughter. 
“That’s not very nice,” you say gently. “Your little sister is trying to sleep.” 
Your voice makes the hairs on the back of his neck prick, a soft rasp that’s haunted him for the last few sleepless nights. It’s odd, seeing you in this light, relaxed from your lack of duties. You’re in your element like this, smiling and coddling the children of the clan as they climb over you and poke and prod. 
“Teyam!” One of them clocks him before he can retreat and his spine is going stiff, stomach turning when he sees the way your expression melts. 
“Hi,” he greets simply, unable to form anything more solid in the fears that he’ll spook you. 
The kids start emerging from the stream one by one, surrounding him as he takes a few tentative steps into the clearing. 
“Neteyam,” Ama greets cordially, eyes flitting between the two of you as you busy yourself with the little one strapped to your chest. 
Neteyam, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you. He’s silently pleading with Eywa, with whatever other force lies out of reach that you’ll just look at him. But you’re locked up tighter than a vault, obviously still reeling from the confrontation all those days ago. 
He hums your name, gentle like a prayer. Your eyes are hesitant, watching the snoozing baby in your arms before glancing at the remaining children in the stream before finally meeting his longing gaze. 
“Can we talk?” he asks you, flashing one of the curious kids a brief smile when they tug on the hem of his loincloth. 
Your response is far more blunt than he’d expected, taken aback when you murmur a firm, “No.”
He supposes that he deserves that, has earned the warmth that eclipses over his cheeks as the children watch the exchange with inquisitive eyes. And the way you stand to your feet to wrangle the village’s little ones is merited, telling them that playtime is over. 
But as Ama helps you gather their things, sensing the obvious tension between you and the olo’eyktan’s son, he realizes that he can’t just let this go. He won’t. Not without making things right, without telling you that loving you isn’t the hard part, it could never be. 
But agency is something his parents have withheld from him his entire life, molded him into being the perfect son that bends to the clan’s every beck and call. Loving you was just another thing to add to the list of things he did for everyone else’s sake but his own.
He sees now, though, sees that loving you, being in love with you isn’t a difficult feat. Not when he’s been given the smallest glance into what having a future could be like with you. Especially not when he’s learned so many things about you in the moments where you’re a fleeting plume of smoke that surrounds and chokes him all the same. 
He calls your name again, firm this time around. There’s a stutter in your step, he sees the way your shoulders draw taut with a labored sigh. 
You murmur something to Ama, undoing the ties to the netting that carries the dozing infant. Neteyam watches as you shush the kids, reminding them to be good to their tsmuke on their journey through the forest. 
Your fingers are gentle as you tie the last knot, brushing Ama’s shoulders lightly as you tell her you’ll catch up with her shortly. 
When they’re out of earshot, clambering back into the village circle, you turn on your heel, standing on the opposite side of the embankment. The glittering waters gurgle between the two of you as you wait patiently for Neteyam to muster his courage. 
“About our union,” he starts. “I–” 
“I’ve told my parents to forgo the preparations,” you say softly, seemingly unbothered as you pay more attention to the blades of grass that tickle your ankles. 
Neteyam’s spine stiffens.
“Why would you…” 
“You don’t want this,” you repeat his words from the fall out. “You don’t want us. We’ll both be unhappy.” 
It makes his heart squeeze. 
“You would be so unhappy in our union?” he scoffs, like he’s cracked the code. 
He doesn’t expect the humorless laugh that spills past your lips, obviously laden with tears when he focuses hard enough. 
“Of course I would, Neteyam,” you say fiercely, quietly. “I have spent so much of my life being so disgustingly in love with you when all you’ve wanted was me gone. Do you really think I’d let myself suffer at the expense of someone who would rather be alone than be forced to spend time with the likes of me.” 
You make it sound horrible. And perhaps it was, being so taken by someone who’s life mission was to sever every carefully stitched tie.
He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s coming to terms with the fact that maybe he’s been gravely mistaken this entire time. 
“So have your freedom,” you say chillingly. “I surrender.” 
He’s closing the distance between the two of you, splashing through the shallow river to root you to place, fingers wrapped tightly around your elbow. 
You snatch away from his grasp, turning so sharply, he stumbles back. The pad of your finger pokes harshly into his chest, tear-filled eyes brimming as your gaze searches his face. 
“Don’t be heartless,” you hiss. “If there is one thing I will ask of you it is to leave me alone.” 
The distance between the two of you widens as you pluck your bow and quiver nearby and rush off into the brush, leaving Neteyam in the quieting clearing to allow the weight of your words sink to his bones. 
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He doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching the same spot you’d disappeared past, but the forest is beginning to glow and he should be home soon. 
The entire encounter puts him on edge as he climbs through the foliage, moving over fallen logs and blooming flora. His muscles are taut, shoulders tight as he maps the long route back home.
It’s only when a sudden crack in the distance sounds that he becomes aware of how still the forest seems around him, like there are eyes and ears watching his every move. 
A look in the sky reveals a darkening swathe of midnight, leaves gleaming from outstretched branches. As he surveys his surroundings, his ears prick, picking up the most minute of sounds, rhythmic against the dense grass. 
His hand is on his dagger in an instant, eyes wild as he holds his breath. The pulse is nearing, almost insignificant against the backdrop of nature’s call, but something isn’t right and it makes nausea stir in his stomach. 
He blinks once, twice, before something closes over his mouth and a body seems to fuse against his back. 
“It’s me.” Your voice is ragged, hushed against the shell of his ear, and he nearly melts, fingers loosening from around the hilt of his knife. 
“I–” 
“Don’t speak,” you warn. “They are near.” 
He tenses again as you move your bodies behind a curtain of green, off the trodden path. 
“There are five of them,” you whisper and he shivers something fierce. “Two down, three on foot.” 
After years of training from his father, he knows who they are. 
“How did you…why do you–” 
“You didn’t return to the village,” you hiss. 
His heart skips a beat, thrumming because even if you’d been angry at him, you’d noticed his absence. Had gone looking for him, even. He turns to face you, wants to tell you that he’d do anything to make things right, but he realizes that now’s not a good time. 
You’re pale, gravely so, a feral look in your eyes as you grasp at your left side. 
Blood. You’re bleeding. 
“What the fuck?” 
“Stop,” you breathe shakily. “Not now.” 
“________, you’re wounded!” he protests. 
You slap a hand over his mouth, golden eyes widening as you press closer to him. 
He takes the opportunity to peer over your shoulder in pursuit of an exit wound and sighs when he finds the skin still intact. 
“You’re hurt,” he tries again, grabbing the wrist clutching your side. 
You shake your head vehemently. 
“Stop it, Neteyam,” you plead hoarsely. “We need to get rid of them before they find the village.” 
You’re right, he realizes, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he notes the tremble of your lip and the furrow between your brows. 
“Okay,” he swallows, nodding hesitantly. “Okay.” 
“Near the Tree of Souls,” you tell him, knees shaky as you draw an arrow and load your bow. 
You creep forward slowly, willowy frame shielding Neteyam as you move through the forest. 
He barely notices, only sees it when you pause a moment too long, body twitching as the bow quivers in your loosening grasp. 
“________?” Neteyam’s voice is testing, closing the berth. 
Your bow lowers, fingers brushing over the wound once again. When you assess the wetness of the pads of your fingers, Neteyam’s able to get a good look at the damage. 
His eyes widen, grabbing your shoulders tightly when he sees that your eyes are drooping. 
“Wait,” he says sharply. “Don’t—”
Your bloody hand brushes his chin. 
“Make sure…make sure they are…” 
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“She must rest.” 
“It will only be for a moment.” 
The words slur together, distant and muddy as your eyes flicker open to assess your surroundings. 
“Maite, you are awake.” Your mother kneels next to you, expression a picture of harrowing concern. “Oh, Eywa, I’m glad you are awake.” 
It returns in waves, like the ebb and flow of water dousing you. The enemy, in bodies like your own, ruthless to creatures both gentle and roaring. Clothed like humans with gear so imposing, you nearly shrunk with such a small bow and only enough arrows to make each shot count. 
You’d taken out two of them with shaky hands before their hailing bullets pierced the trunks of trees and left gaping holes in the leaves. One had landed, lodged its way right above the left side of your pelvis. 
It aches as you sit up, seeing the aftermath of what must have been a grisly extraction. 
“Stop, stop,” your mother says quickly, hands on your shoulders to guide you back. “You will disturb Mo’at’s work.” 
“There are more of them,” you rush. “They are–” 
“Shh, my child,” she coaxes. “They are gone.” 
It had been a horrific sight, seeing Neteyam carrying you back to the village, limp and listless, covered in the blood of multiple parties with a nearly animalistic look in his eye. 
“Where is Neteyam?” you whisper, lashes wet. 
The look on your mother’s face softens with pity, knowing, as she sees it written all over your face. 
She’d known it before and she’d known it after you approached her and your father with the request to call off the union. 
I don’t love him, you’d said, unable to meet their eyes as you confessed. Eywa’s made a mistake with us. I want to be with someone that I love.
You’d been embarrassed, wanted to save face. You didn’t want them to know that the only man you’d ever known from adolescence to young adulthood hadn’t wanted a thing to do with you. 
“I’m here.” 
Neteyam’s entering the tent with your father hot on his heels, obviously defying his wishes to leave you be. 
His forearm is wrapped in medicinal leaves, tied off with thin vine. A cut slices his brow bone, the wound still red and raw. 
“I told you–” 
Your mother shoots your father a contemptuous look before turning to you to smooth some of the hair away from your face. 
“Eywa makes no mistakes, Maite,” she whispers, gaze pleading. 
She’s on her feet, crossing the tent to meet Neteyam half way. With a comforting squeeze to his shoulder, she pushes your protesting father through the hide and suddenly the air is shrouded in silence save for your labored breathing and the weight of the eldest Sully’s gaze. 
“I thought I lost you,” Neteyam says, the tiniest inflection of trembling pricking your ears. 
You blink, watching as he stands at the end of the mat. He’s fidgeting but his eyes are searing, shaking with tears as he stares at you unblinking—like you’ll disappear between the shutter of his heavy eyelids. 
You don’t know what to say, the lump lodged in your throat far too thick for you to form coherent words around. 
Neteyam continues for the both of you. 
“I thought that I wouldn’t…that I…” 
You watch as he crumbles. 
“Wouldn’t what?” you finally ask, voice dry. 
“I thought that I wouldn’t be able to give us a chance.” 
Your jaw tenses, breaking eye contact first as you shake your head in defeat. 
“There isn’t an us,” you sigh shakily. “Said so yourself.” 
“Oh, come on,” Neteyam scoffs, voice thick with tears. “Don’t do that.” 
“Do what?” you argue, clutching your injured side as it pulses with every beat of your thundering heart. 
“Don’t—don’t give up on me yet,” he whispers. “Please.” 
Your expression crumples and his face falls as you knuckle your tears away angrily. 
“You’re cruel, Neteyam. So so cruel,” you murmur. “I am ashamed that you have my heart.” 
The words are spoken with a quiet vindication that makes Neteyam feel like his nerve endings are fraying. A singular tear arcs over the swell of your cheek and an ache roots in his gut. 
“Don’t say that,” he says, throat bobbing as he swallows the emotion threatening to bubble over. “I–” 
“Neteyam.” Your father’s voice is stern, the flap of the tent flipping as he reenters. 
Neteyam bites the inside of his lip as he spares you one last glance and your resolve dissipates when the broad expanse of his back faces you. 
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You’d expected Neteyam taking his leave to be some semblance of closure for the two of you, as clean of a break as you could come to terms with now that any precarious ties that bound the two of you were severed. But you hadn’t anticipated the singular ember inside of Neteyam fanning to be engulfing and all-consuming. 
“I know you’re there,” you say simply, plucking the petals and leaves from the flora to tuck into the small pouch strung across your chest. 
He’d been following you all afternoon, lingering a safe distance away, but his eyes haven’t left your healing frame and what had initially been confusion began to bleed into annoyance. 
“Pay me no mind,” he says simply, emerging from the brush with a bow and quiver.
It’s been over a week since the sky people had infiltrated your corner of the forest and Neteyam hasn’t let you leave his sight once.
From the morning eclipse to the evening’s, Neteyam’s doted on you; shearing chunks of fruit, grinding down your herbs for your treatments, rewrapping your wound under Mo’at’s careful supervision. 
You’d asked him to give you a moment of peace in the forest alone, but it wasn’t long before you scented him, heard his labored breathing as he tried to keep up with you. 
You heed his word, stonewalling his presence like he’s nothing but another leaf stretching from the trees. And for a while, a long stretch of silence surrounds the two of you as you venture deeper and deeper into the forest. 
But before you know it, each one of your steps is exchanged like for like, his looming and muscular frame eclipsing you like a shadow as you try to ignore the fact that he’s drawing nearer. 
You turn on your heel to face him just as he settles a pace away, eyes clear and golden. 
“What?” you snip, taking a step back. 
He takes a step forward. 
“You should not overexert yourself,” he replies simply. 
“And what happened to paying you no mind?” 
His fingers brush your sore wound and your gaze flits to the way his fingertips ghost over the dressing wrapped around the expanse of your lower abdomen. 
The grin he gives you has many layers. You immediately decipher something sly, coy, as he searches your face. 
“I’ve changed my mind,” he says quietly. “I want you to pay me all the mind.” 
Your expression is dry, eyes rolling as you step away from him. You’re swatting his palm away and shaking your head like a final warning. 
“You don’t get to flirt with me after all this time,” you say, blanketing the semi-tense air with a cover of finality. “And you shouldn’t. There is no longer an obligation for us to be within vicinity of each other.” 
You sound so cold, like you hadn’t spent the past decade pining after him in your own weird way. Like you hadn’t turned a blind eye when he found comfort in hopeful women despite wearing your heart on your oddly-stitched sleeve. Hadn’t been so willing to spend forever with him.
“You cannot dictate the turn of my heart,” Neteyam argues. 
The look you give him could instill fear in even the most intimidating predators. 
“You’d go to great lengths to quell a guilty conscience?” you ask. “Do not forget that forever is a long time. If nothing about our union piques your interest now, do not count on anything in the future.” 
You’re feeling for buttons to push, tender spots that will make him let up, but Neteyam isn’t easily swayed. He doesn’t know if he loves you now, but the last few weeks make certain that he will. He isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s falling fast and hard.  
“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, yawne.” 
The nickname makes you freeze, makes your eyes narrow as you glare up at the future olo’eyktan. 
“Don’t be insufferable, Neteyam.” 
“Duties be damned, I’ll spend every remaining moment doing right by you,” he says, fingers threading through yours so that he can bring your knuckles to his lips. 
Your heart wavers and he sees the way the curtain falls, eyes a fraction softer. 
He grins, tugging you closer. Moves your hair over your shoulder then skims his fingers along the sharpness of your jaw. 
It draws a shiver from you as you shift nervously, gaze fluttering from his eyes to the plush of his mouth. 
“Stop,” you whisper meekly. “We–”
“You’re mine, you hear me?” His voice is raw, edge melting away. “Union or no union. It’s always going to be you and me.” 
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neng © 2023
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taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul , @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn , @fanboyluvr , @mazemymirror , @itssiaaax , @girlpostingsposts, @athenachu , @hiya-itsamber , @morks-watermelon 
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babamiasworld · 10 months
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Are you sick of me yet?
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Hyrule!Link x GN!Reader ✭
Synopsis: Link refuses to leave you alone after you lose to him
Content Warnings: cocky link, possessiveness if you squint, light cussing, a lil kithy kith, and uhhhh jealous zelda if that’s how u wanna see it 🧍
A/N: jesus link brain rot is getting to me rn, and i got the new loz themed nintendo switch cause i’m OBSESSED- pls it’s so pretty🥰
Word count 1 .4k
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To everybody, Link was a man of few words, and to most, he was intense. Never speaking much, and when he did, his words were blunt, curt, and devoid of vulnerability. He didn’t care what others thought of him, only that he got paid fairly for his work. Though there was a side of him that he didn’t show all that much, a side of him that only reared it’s head depending on the situation. He wasn’t secretly a softie or anything, no no, he was worse.
“That was a tough loss.” Link said while inhaling through his teeth, mocking something close to sympathy. You had just finished a racing competition, which wasn’t something you usually engaged in, simply because you were one to get really competitive and you were a sore loser, but you’d never show it, nor ever confirm it out loud, but you were. it was a fact you couldn’t deny. So you ignored Link’s comment, simply ignoring him as you made your way to your steed, walking a bit faster in hopes Link wouldn’t catch up, because if you were being honest, if you had to look at the grin on his face…you’d probably punch it. Though Link wasn’t having it, taking your silence as a challenge.
You sharply turned a corner in hopes he’d just give up his attempts to get you to lash out at him. Moments from the race replaying in your mind, pissing you off more.  The reason he was so amused by your loss is because you’re known to be one of the most talented racers in the kingdom, and you had come second, and Link of course, was in first. He wasn’t going to let you live this down that much is for sure, not unless you were able to rub his ego into the mud…and then stomp on it multiple times…then maybe setting it on fire. If it was possible, you’d consider traveling across Hyrule to throw it into a volcano.
Lost in your thoughts, with your eyes fixated on the cobblestone path beneath you, you didn’t see the encroaching obstacle in front of you until you collided with it. Looking up at a very unpleasant face. Link didn’t say a word, just staring down at you with that stupid smug face, as if you were smaller than him. Physically yes. But in every other aspect absolutely not, but as much as you hated it, you couldn’t help but feel heat rising to your cheeks at the proximity between the two of you. You stepped to the side to leave him behind yet again, though he mirrored your actions holding his expression.
“Can I help you, asshole?” You spat, sounding like more of a demand rather than a question. But much to your displeasure, your comment only inflated his ego as he tilts his head playfully at you.
“Aw don’t be like that.” He teases, causing your scowl to intensify.
“Shut up. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.” You retort. Pushing past him.
“You know me well~” He chuckles. The sound making your stomach flutter.
“Piss off.” Eyes focused on the stable that your Loftwing resides in, sleeping peacefully.
“No. I don’t think I will~” He taunts. Unbeknownst to you, he picks up his pace, inching his face closer to yours, whispering into your ear. “I know you like it when I tease you.” Emitting a sharp gasp from you, whipping your head at him with a look of disbelief, holing a hand over your ear.
“No I don’t!” You retort, a little more enthusiastically than you intended, mentally cursing yourself as you see Link puffing out his chest; and by your red cheeks, it only confirms his statement.
“Yeah?” His tone was quiet, as if you’d both get in trouble if he was heard. But as he starts moving towards you, absent-mindedly stepping back as he did, until your back hits the cold stone wall, only then do you realize it’s just you that’s in trouble. “Then why are you so flustered then?” Asking a question he already knows the answer to.
“I’m not.” You stare at him through your eyelashes, trying to intimidate him, though you know it won’t work. This causes Link to tilt his head once more, but his expression is different this time. He’s looking at you like he wants something…needs something. You immediately pick up on this; his hungry gaze, half-lidded eyes analyzing every inch of your face causing your heart to beat rapidly.
You turn your head away from him to hide your red face. But Link wasn’t having it. He wanted you to squirm under him his gaze, lifting a hand to your chin and tilting it up so you’d look at him. He was surprisingly gentle with his movements, slowly pulling your chin upwards towards him but stopping before your lips could touch. The proximity of your faces causing your eyes to flicker to his lips, only for a moment before meeting his eyes again. Though this didn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you, causing him to look down at you with a seductive glint in his eyes.
“See something you like?” Link teases, adoring how red you’ve gotten. He moves closer, lips ghosting over each other for a few seconds before you can’t take it anymore and finally kiss him, a hand snaking up his neck; fingers lacing between his soft blonde locks while your other hand lays against his ribcage for support. Your boldness causing Link to chuckle into the kiss, sending heat through your body like shockwaves which only intensifies when his hands find their place on your hips, using them as an anchor to push his body against yours, chests pressed against each other.
He pushes his tongue into your mouth, his hand dragging up your body as it settles on your jaw, pulling you even closer. His kiss is heated, rough, and possessive, as if this was his way of claiming you as his, and deep down, you didn’t mind as much as you said you did, indulging yourself in him. Both of you were growing desperate, frantic even, as if you’ll die if you separate, but sadly breathing is a necessity.
You break the kiss to breathe, but before you can even take a full breath, Links lips find yours again, groaning into your mouth.
“Ahem!” A distant voice echoed. Causing you both to freeze, Link pulling away from your lips to turn his head towards the voice, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you. As Link moved his head, you were mortified to see Zelda standing a few meters away with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at you two clearly unimpressed with what she walked in on. “Link, my father wants to speak with you. He insists you meet with him as soon as…” She trails off, eyes flickering to you for a moment, then back to link. “…you’re done with your little rendezvous.” Zelda finished, turning on her heel and taking her leave.
Link looks back at you with a that same stupid smirk, and your just absolutely traumatized that the princess caught you making out with her knight, but Link has a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Wanna keep goin?” Link said with optimism. Which pissed you off considering you’re probably not the princess’ favorite person after that; the thought far from pleasant as you pushed him away and stormed off.
“Argh- you’re so stupid! Don’t ever pull that again.” A frustrated hand running through your hair, trying to find something to help you forget about the whole ordeal.
This causes Link to let out a low chuckle, watching the way your hips sway as you fade into the distance.
“That’s what you said last time.”
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peachyhalstead · 1 month
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married man | j. halstead
request:Can you do a Jay Halstead x Reader. They are both married and have a child together. The child just started pre-k or kindergarten and since the reader is heavily pregnant Jay has been dropping off and picking up their kid. And maybe like the single moms are flirting with Jay since they think he might be a single dad but they get surprised when the reader picks the kid one day after giving birth.
pairing: established (married) fem!reader x jay halstead
word count: 1.75k
warnings: none??
a/n: dad!jay dad!jay dad!jay !!!!! they have a little boy (his name is dylan) and a newborn girlie (what should her name be)
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Grumbling as the alarm went off, you blindly reached over and whacked Jay on the chest. “Why’s it have to be so loud?”
Jay chuckled, silencing his phone’s alarm. “It’s not even that loud, babe.”
You glared at him through narrow eyes. “If I wasn’t about to pop right now I’d give you a piece of my mind.”
Letting out a hearty laugh, Jay got out of bed and folded his portion of the comforter back up, trapping the heat for you. “Only a few more weeks, babe. Then you’ll be able to move without having to pee every two seconds.”
You slowly followed Jay, yawning and rubbing the nine-month bump as you headed into the kitchen to package your son’s lunch.
He had recently started kindergarten, and loved telling you and Jay about all his escapades with his classmates as he learned different things.
“I could’ve done that, you didn’t have to get up.” Jay said, popping a capsule into the coffee machine and starting it.
Shrugging, you zipped the lunchbox closed and set it next to the matching blue backpack, one hand going to rub at the sore spot on your back. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep.”
Jay noticed, and his hands slowly made their way to the exact spot that bothered you in your first pregnancy. “Who do you thinks going to ask me out today, hm?”
Laughing softly, you clicked your tongue at Jay. “You really enjoy that, don’t you? Miss getting hit on?”
Jay shook his head. “Don’t miss it one bit. Just enjoy seeing those soccer moms think their whispers are quiet.”
A few weeks ago Jay had mentioned that some of the moms at drop-off had been talking about Jay, commenting on his lack of wedding band and no significant other ever at drop off or pick up.
“Momma, when will you go to school with me?” Dylan asked, your son finally making his appearance in his pajamas.
“Soon, little bug. Once Little Sister is here, I’ll drop you off with Daddy some days.”
Dylan frowned. “Can Sissy come now?”
You huffed, wanting nothing more than to deliver the weight that seemed to be constantly on your bladder. “I wish, but I think she needs a few more weeks.”
Jay smiled into his coffee cup, phone chiming with a text from Hailey. “Come on, Dyl. Let’s get dressed so you can show your friends your new shoes.”
Dylan beamed at the thought, and followed Jay back to his room, leaving you alone in the warm kitchen. The aroma of coffee lingered as you found a chair to rest in, hand absently tracing circles over your distended belly.
A sigh of contentment escaped you; this was your world, and despite the groggy mornings and occasional aggravations - like trying to convince Dylan to brush his teeth properly - you wouldn’t change it for anything else. That was the beauty of family - it wasn’t always perfect, but it was yours. And that made all the imperfections precious in their own odd way.
The sound of Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts as he asked Dylan to choose between two shirts. You smiled, knowing how seriously your little boy took these morning decisions. Sipping on some water and slowly standing up, you decided to start breakfast.
The scent of eggs and bacon soon filled the room, joining the still lingering coffee aroma. Dylan would be excited; he loved his simple morning breakfasts. As you were flipping an egg, Jay returned with Dylan in tow. Their matching grins caught your eye.
“What are you two up to?” You questioned playfully, adjusting your hold on your bump.
“Nothing,” they both chimed in unison, their grins growing even wider.
“Okay,” you drew out the first syllable, grabbing a plate and moving the eggs for Dylan to eat, blowing on them as you cut them into pieces.
“Eat, then Daddy will bring you to school.” You smiled, cracking a few more eggs and grabbing a tortilla and the toppings you knew Jay liked, quickly making a breakfast wrap for him.
Wrapping it in foil, you smiled to yourself as you heard Jay helping Dylan put on his sneakers.
“Ok, we gotta go, Little Man! Go give Momma a kiss.”
Dylan skipped over to you, wrapping his little arms around your legs, promising you he’d come home with a drawing to put in the nursery.
Thanking him, you smiled at Jay as he grabbed the wrap and his badge, stopping to press a kiss to your forehead. “Take it easy today, babe.”
“I will. Go break hearts and catch perps, Jay.”
——
Jay hid his eye roll as he followed Dylan to the drop off location, ignoring the looks from the few single mothers nearby.
“I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t grab that ass? He’s such a good dad, too.”
Jay overheard one of the mothers and shook his head, stifling a laugh. He still found it amusing and somewhat flattering to know that he was the topic of their little gossip circle. But he also knew firmly where his heart lay - at home with you and Dylan, and soon, your new little girl.
As Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, he turned to Jay with a big grin. "Daddy, do you think I can tell Mrs. Johnson about Sissy coming soon?"
Jay bent down to his level, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Of course, buddy. I'm sure she will be thrilled to hear it."
At that moment, a pair of giggling women walked by, shooting him suggestive glances over their shoulders. He merely smiled politely before turning away.
Arriving back at the car, Jay pulled out his phone and saw a text from you: Feeling better now that the house is empty. How did drop off go?
He quickly typed back: Smooth as always. He's telling all his teachers about his soon-to-be little sister.
Satisfied, he started the vehicle and headed towards the precinct. His phone chimed again with your response: That's my boy! Take care at work, Jay.
He chuckled as he imagined you grinning at your phone, feet kicked up on the coffee table even though you often chided him for doing the same thing.
——
The routine didn’t shift for the next few weeks, but the gossiping mothers were surprised when Dylan was dropped off by Will one day, Jay at the hospital where you were currently resting with the newest addition to the family.
“Uncle Will, can we see Momma and Sissy after school?” Dylan asked, tugging on his uncle’s hand.
"Of course, buddy," Will replied with a soft smile, watching as Dylan's face lit up with joy. "I bet they can't wait to see you."
Once Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, Will indulged in a moment of silence. He was used to the emergency room's relentless noise and bustle, so the unfamiliar hush of the school yard in the early morning was a welcome respite. A group of mothers were huddled together, shooting glances his way. Perhaps he was becoming part of their gossip routine now too - he silently hoped otherwise.
Meanwhile, at the hospital, Jay could barely tear his gaze away from you sleeping peacefully, the tiny bundle in his arms a testament to your strength and love. His heart swelled in his chest at the sight; you looked more beautiful than ever, your face radiating an exhausted but blissful glow as your daughter, their daughter, clung onto his finger with her small hand.
Just then, she stirred awake and let out a soft whimper which turned into a loud wail. He quickly got up and started to gently rock her, not wanting her cries to disturb your much-needed rest.
“Hey there, little princess,” he cooed softly as he bounced her gently in his arms. “Let’s not wake Mommy up now.”
After a few minutes of gentle rocking and hushed lullabies - Jay trying his best to remember the ones you sung to Dylan when he was an infant, the baby quieted down, blue eyes peering up at her father.
“Hi, munchkin. You already have half of Chicago’s first responders wrapped around your finger.” He whispered, soft smile at his lips as he thought back to the replies from his team when he sent the photo of the baby in the group chat.
"The other half is itching to meet you. Just wait until Uncle Will gets a hold of you. You're going to be spoiled rotten." He laughed softly, mindlessly tracing a finger over his daughter's tiny forehead.
His phone buzzed where he had left it on the bedside table. It was a message from Will letting him know that Dylan had been dropped off at school and asking if they could come by after school to see the baby.
Jay's heart swelled, even more, knowing his son was equally excited about his little sister's arrival. Jay quickly typed a response, assuring Will they would be more than happy to have visitors later in the day.
——
The day passed in a flurry of nurses checking vitals and bringing meals, phone calls from family and friends, and quiet moments spent marveling over their newest addition. Dylan was bursting with energy when Will brought him by after school, his wide eyes taking in everything with an infectious excitement that had everyone in the room smiling.
"Momma, Sissy is really small!" Dylan whispered in awe as he approached the bed, carefully peering over the edge of the bassinet.
You chuckled at his innocent observation as Jay helped him climb up onto the bed to get a better look. "Yes, she is," you agreed with a fond smile. "You were that small, too, Little Man!”
Dylan looked at you with wide eyes, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh!”
“Mhmm!” You replied, fixing his shirt as he squirmed to get another look at his sister.
“When can you and Sissy come to school?” He asked, looking at you.
Jay laughed quietly, and you looked at your husband. “Soon, Dyl.”
——
Two weeks later, you consoled the crying baby as Jay helped Dylan put his backpack on. “Can Sissy come meet Mrs. Johnson?”
Shaking your head, you carefully strapped the little girl into her carrier, softly rubbing her cheek. “Not yet. Maybe during the spring concert, but she’s still too little.”
Jay stood up and grabbed his keys. “She can help Momma and Daddy drop you off, though. That sound good?”
Dylan’s face lit up at the thought. “Yeah! Everyone will get to see her!” He jumped excitedly before Jay guided him out the door.
Satisfied with your successful early morning, you carried the baby carrier to the car and buckled it in securely at the back seat. Moving around was still a little tough for you but you were slowly getting the hang of things. You climbed into the passenger side, glancing back at Dylan who was squirming in his seat with anticipation.
The drive to the school was filled with Dylan's non-stop chatter about what he was going to show his little sister. Jay had a soft smile on his face as he listened to his son, occasionally glancing at you in admiration and shared joy.
Once they arrived in front of the school, Dylan unbuckled himself and carefully opened your car door for you. “Be careful, Momma!” He cautioned, making Jay chuckle as he followed behind with his son’s backpack.
You smiled, letting Jay go ahead with Dylan so he wasn’t late, working to unstrap your daughter’s carrier so Dylan could see her one last time before he was in school.
“Jay, haven’t seen you the last few days. Is everything okay?” One of the mothers who had tried to hit on Jay asked, faux worry on her face.
Jay wore a smile as he turned to the woman, Dylan's hand tucked safely in his own as they made their way toward the school entrance. "Yeah, everything’s great, actually. My wife just gave birth to our second child," he responded casually, nodding his head towards the car where you were carefully lifting the baby carrier.
The woman blinked in surprise before offering a tight-lipped smile, "Oh, I didn’t know... congratulations."
"Thanks," Jay replied with a nod before turning his attention back to Dylan whose bundle of excitement was barely contained. As Jay opened the door for him to enter he looked into the bright eyes of his son and smiled reassuringly, "You ready?"
Dylan nodded eagerly, already tugging on his father's hand to drag him inside. Jay followed docilely, striding up the hallway towards Dylan's classroom.
Meanwhile, you were still out by the car, struggling slightly with the baby carrier that seemed to weigh even more than your now two-week-old daughter. A few mothers noticed and stepped forward to help you, their faces lighting up at the sight of the infant bundled up against the cold.
"Oh she's absolutely adorable!" One woman cooed, and you recognized her from when Jay was telling you how one of them started to wear low-cut tops after he started doing drop off duty.
You walked with them to the doors, smile brightening when you saw Jay and Dylan at the door, the young boy wanting to say goodbye to his sister.
“Bye, Sissy! Bye, Momma!” Dylan smiled, giving his sister a kiss and hugging your legs, unaware that his farewells caused the mothers who had walked with you to gasp lightly.
Jay’s smile widened at Dylan's display of affection, ruffling his son's hair gently, "Alright, champ. We’ll pick you up later. Have a great day at school."
Dylan nodded eagerly before disappearing into the bustling school building with his teacher. The remaining mothers turned to you, their surprised expressions replaced by warm, slender smiles as they admired your little girl.
Back in the car, you laughed as Jay started the ignition. “Think I felt the daggers from some of the moms when they found out you’re married.”
Jay snorted, turning back to the road to your house. “Well, that or when they found out we have great sex. Either way, watch your back, babe.”
You gawked at Jay’s remark, hitting him in the chest. “Jay! Your daughter is listening!”
“Oh, she’ll hear worse when Ruz babysits her." ------ a/n: send requests if you wanna!!
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chvoswxtch · 4 months
Text
i got you
pairing: frank castle x fem!reader
summary: frank tells you the truth about how he lost his wife, and drops a heart-wrenching bombshell along with it.
warnings: swearing, angst, lots of grief, mentions of blood, death, and gun violence
word count: 4.8k
a/n: the jokes about billy and frank came from @thyme-in-a-bubble & I wondering what a sleepover would look like with them and I hope that's enough comedic relief for how heavy this one is. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!
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Delicate kisses of warmth caressed the tops of your cheeks when peaceful rays of sunlight began to peak through the open curtains. Stirring lightly, your hand subconsciously reached out in search of the man that had been occupying your dreams for several months now. But when your fingertips found absent sheets that were cool to the touch instead, your eyes finally began to flutter open, and you soon realized that you were in a large cozy bed alone. Sitting up slowly and holding the soft sheets to your bare chest, your fuzzy brain tried to piece together your surroundings while you let out a quiet yawn, but the only thing you could focus on is what was missing.
Frank.
Rubbing the remnants of sleep out of your eyes gently with the heels of your hands, it finally dawned on you that you were in the master bedroom of the cabin. You remembered falling asleep on Frank’s chest next to the fireplace, and the thought that he must have carried you to bed caused a giddy school girl grin to stretch over your lips and indent into your cheeks. For a moment you just fell back against the plush pillows, letting out a content sigh and stretching out your limbs with a soft hum, relishing in the afterglow that carried over from last night. There was a slight ache between your thighs, and as you traced your own lips with your fingertips tenderly, you could still feel them buzzing from colliding with Frank’s own repeatedly last night. 
For a moment, you wondered if you were still dreaming. You had never felt such raw  exquisite happiness like this before that it truly didn’t feel real. How else could you explain it? Here you were, in an isolated cabin with no one around for miles, alone with Frank, waking up naked in his bed after a fireplace confession and the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. If you didn’t factor in all the hell you went through to get to this exact moment, it would’ve felt too good to be true.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and applewood smoked bacon swiftly pulled you out of your own head, and there was only one thing you wanted right now more than coffee and breakfast.
Frank.
Slipping a shirt over your head, you were making your way down the hall when something caught your eye. It must not have captured your attention yesterday, but there was another door in the hallway, and it was faintly cracked open. Out of pure curiosity, you gently pushed the door open just a smidge, causing the hinges to creak quietly. The sight you were met with caused thick confusion to weave between your brows. Against the wall to the right was a set of wooden bunk beds, complete with a ladder leading from the floor to the top. There wasn’t anything else in the room except for two sets of small wooden dressers, with four drawers each, spaced out against the left wall. 
The bunk beds were made neatly, almost as if they had never been touched. The bottom bed had a navy blue comforter covering it with a hunter green pillow, while the top one had a violet purple comforter and a rose pink pillow. But as you glanced around the room, you noticed there was nothing else in it. No other furniture, no decor of any kind, nothing. 
Why would Frank have bunk beds? The first explanation that popped into your head was perhaps Billy joined Frank at the cabin from time to time, and then that unleashed the image of Frank and Billy having a slumber party in the bunk beds, and then you were uncontrollably giggling to yourself while continuing your path down the hallway towards the kitchen.
As soon as you turned the corner, your breath caught in your throat. Frank was standing in front of the stove, without a shirt, wearing a loose pair of grey sweatpants on his hips that made it very clear he was wearing nothing underneath them. The sight of his muscular back momentarily distracted you from the fact that he was cooking bacon without a shirt on, which further cemented your belief that he may actually be a masochist. But then you caught sight of the tousled dark curls spilling from the top of his head, and you couldn’t help but smile. You had never seen Frank’s hair quite this long, and you wondered how much curlier it got when he actually let it go.
By this point you were practically salivating, but it wasn’t the freshly brewed coffee or the scent of bacon and pancakes that had you ravenous all of a sudden. While you silently observed him from where you stood in the entryway, you noticed there were faint pink lines along his tan skin, cascading down his shoulder blade. Heat quickly flushed into your cheeks when you realized that those lines were from your nails. You hadn’t had a chance to look in the mirror yet, but you were abruptly curious if Frank had left any marks of his own on your skin. God, you hoped he had.
The flex of his bicep caught your eye when he lifted his coffee mug up to his mouth to take a sip, and you couldn’t stand there silently anymore. Trying to clear the lust that had clouded your brain, you were brought back to your former curiosity about the bunk beds, and a faint smirk curled at the edge of your lips as you stepped further into the kitchen.
“So between you and Billy, who’s the top and who’s the bottom?”
Frank immediately started sputtering, nearly dropping the ceramic mug in his large hand onto the floor as he quickly spun around to look at you. His thick brows were bunched up in the center of his forehead, but his warm brown eyes were widened in bewilderment, and he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand after his coughing fit settled down.
“Do what, now?”
You couldn’t help but bust out laughing at Frank’s hilarious reaction. Walking towards the cabinets, you opened a few of them until you found the mugs and glasses. As you grabbed a tall glass, you looked at Frank over your shoulder with a teasing smirk and arched one of your brows.
“The bunk beds?”
Turning your attention back to the task at hand, you poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into the glass, adding some flavored creamer and milk along with a couple ice cubes. It wasn’t the “iced” coffee you were used to, but it would suffice for this morning.
“I’m assuming you take the bottom. Something tells me Billy would probably be worried about the top bunk collapsing under your weight and ruining his pretty face.”
With your back still turned to Frank, you couldn’t see the way his expression was shifting, and he hadn’t replied to your teasing. Assuming he was probably looking at you with his usual expression of pure exasperation that always covered his sharp features when you annoyed the shit out of him with your antics, you giggled quietly to yourself and kept pushing.
“So, do you guys braid each other’s hair before, or after the face masks?”
A few moments of silence stretched on before you rolled your eyes, turning around finally to face Frank with a grin, prepared to laugh at whatever face he was giving you at the moment in response to your teasing. But the second you saw his face, your smile instantly dropped, and a pit of dread opened up in your stomach.
Frank wasn’t annoyed. He didn’t look angry either. He looked…crestfallen. His brown eyes were softened somewhat, but shining with sorrow. His lips were pressed in a line, but it wasn’t harsh, and it made him look like he was struggling to hold something back. His broad shoulders had visibly deflated, and there was a clear lump in his throat that he forcefully swallowed down. Solemnly turning to the side, he reached out and slowly turned two of the knobs on the stove all the way to the left to shut the burners off.
For a second he just stood there, his gaze locked on the floor, and you watched as he quickly clenched and unclenched his jaw. Whatever you said wrong struck a nerve within him, even harder than you had in the motel when you touched the scar on his temple and questioned its origin. Panic flared within your bloodstream the longer he avoided your gaze and stayed silent, and you desperately wished you knew what you had said wrong so that you could take it back, or at the very least apologize for it.
“They uh…they were for…”
He couldn’t meet your eyes. Frank’s voice was the softest you had ever heard it, and the internal conflict he was wrestling with was painted clearly across his face. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a heavy and deep exhale through his large nose, and then lifted his head to look in your direction after what felt like an eternity. The expression in his eyes was muddled. There were strong notes of grief, swirls of melancholy, but there also appeared to be faint traces of something that almost looked…apologetic?
“They were for my kids.”
Every molecule of oxygen was harshly forced out of your lungs with that one sentence. The immediate shock of it shielded your heart from the initial blow, and you blinked in complete dumbfoundment while staring across the kitchen at Frank. Your investigative brain swiftly kicked into overdrive as you tried to make sense of those words. 
They were for my kids.
Frank didn’t have kids. He lived alone in a one bedroom apartment. He had only left your side twice in the past six months. You never heard him talking to anyone on the phone except for Billy or Dinah. And since his wife had passed, that would mean if he did have kids, he would have sole custody of them. If there was one thing you knew about Frank, it was that he was fiercely loyal, and even more relentlessly protective. If he had kids, there was absolutely no way in hell anyone could keep them away from him. A puzzled set of lines creased along your forehead while you stared back at him.
“Wait…that doesn’t…that doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any kids, Frank. I mean, if you did…they…they would…they would be here, they would be with you. You wouldn’t let someone else-”
The heartbroken look on Frank’s face quickly cut off your rambling of denial. At that moment, you seemed to finally notice that his soft brown eyes were glimmering in the natural light filtering into the kitchen. But it wasn’t the sunlight causing the sheen. There were thick tears welling up in Frank’s eyes.
The band-aid that the initial shock provided was abruptly ripped off by that sight, and a desolate bolt of lightning struck right through your heart, cracking it in half like an unsuspecting tree in a dreadful storm. Your eyes widened in horror when the unspoken truth emerged from the embers of that destruction.
Frank hadn’t just lost his wife; he had lost his kids too.
All at once, the kitchen felt entirely too small. Your iron grip on the counter was the only thing keeping you up right. It felt as if someone had reached directly into your chest and pried your ribcage apart with their bare hands, puncturing your lungs with splinters of bone, leaving your lungs to fill up with your own blood. The stove had been shut off, but there was a heat encircling you that felt suffocating, making it hard for you to breathe. Frank looked absolutely forlorn as he took in your reaction to that painful confession.
“We uh…we were at Central Park. We had this uh…this tradition, ya’know. Every time I came home from a tour, we’d pack a picnic and go, make a whole day of it. The kids they uh…they loved that carousel, ya’know. They’d ride it so many damn times, Maria and I, we…we’d lose count.”
An overwhelming sensation of nausea flipped your stomach completely upside down. Something about the way Frank was talking caused your anxiety to skyrocket. You didn’t like how small and quiet his voice sounded, or how vulnerable it was. You didn’t like that the tears lining his bottom lash line looked like they were seconds away from falling. You didn’t like that you could feel in your gut that he was about to reveal something that would ruin you.
“I don’t uh…I don’t remember when the shootin’ started. I don’t…I can’t remember where Maria was, or my boy…I don’t…I didn’t see ‘em. But my girl…my baby girl, she…she was…I had her, ya’know…in my arms. I was tryin’ to…fix it, ya’know…keep it all in…then everythin’ just…went black.”
His voice was so low, barely a decibel above a whisper, and he faintly mumbled while fighting to get the words out. But in the silence of the kitchen you heard every syllable as clear as day. His eyes kept shifting back and forth over the floor, and you weren’t sure if it was because he couldn’t look you in the eye, or if it was because he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. Frank’s hands were loosely connected in front of him, his index and middle finger twitching repeatedly while he spoke.
In an instant, an icy chill suddenly caressed your spine. Bits of Frank’s words had triggered something in your brain, and you couldn’t figure out why. Something about it sounded…familiar. When the pieces began to align in your memory, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand in horror, and a choked sob caught in your throat.
You knew exactly what Frank was talking about, and it made you sick to your stomach.
“Oh my God.”
The Central Park massacre. 
Ben had covered that story when you first started interning with him three years ago. The details of that case had been…brutal. A gang war had erupted right in the middle of the park. Nine people had been murdered as a result, and several others were injured. But the worst of it was a family of four had been caught right in the middle of the crosshairs of the shootout. The mother and son died instantly due to blood loss from their wounds, but the daughter…the carnage was so bad that she couldn’t even be identified by dental records. The father had been shot in the head and had slipped into a coma on the way to the hospital, but there was never any coverage on what had happened to him after he was admitted. Ben hadn’t even allowed you to look at the crime scene photos, they were so horrific.
But for the past three years, you had always wondered about what had happened to that man. The optimistic part of you imagined he’d woken up from the coma eventually, but then you felt bad for even hoping that he would’ve. Who would want to wake up from that just to find out that their entire family had been murdered? The realistic part of you figured he had most likely died due to his injuries. After all, who survives a bullet to the head?
Never in a million years would you ever have imagined that exact man you had always wondered about for the past three years would be the one standing in front of you right now.
“That was you.”
Given the nature of the brutality, the victims' names were never released, no matter how hard the press begged for them, and the abhorrent details were watered down significantly for the media. 
There was a flash of perplexity in Frank's eyes, as if he was trying to figure out how you seemed to know what he was referring to. But then he almost appeared to be relieved that he didn’t have to go further into the gruesome details.
Everything seemed to fall into place like a torrent row of dominoes. That’s why he had shut down when you asked about the scar that night in the motel. It was a physical reminder of the day his entire family was gunned down right in front of him.
This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Frank had just come home. He had survived months, years, of real fucking war…and came home just to, what? Have his family slaughtered in front of his face, and nearly die himself? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. How could that happen? How could that happen to him?
The sound of Frank gently shushing you and the feeling of his rough hands carefully cradling your face made you realize that you had been voicing those thoughts aloud. The calloused pads of his thumbs wiped at the wetness lingering on the tops of your cheeks, and you suddenly noticed that you had started crying at some point. Glancing up at Frank, you watched as a single tear slipped down his cheek, and that devastated you to your core.
“Frank-”
Hearing the way you sobbed his name, Frank immediately pulled you in, cradling your head delicately against his chest, carding his fingers through your hair softly while he quietly shushed you. You felt guilty. You felt so fucking guilty. Here he was opening up about the most traumatic day of his life, and yet he was the one consoling you. But you didn’t have anything to offer him in that moment. All you could manage to do was wrap your arms around him and hug onto him as tight as physically possible. 
You couldn’t even begin to imagine the aftermath of something so awful. To wake up from a coma, just to be told your entire family is gone. You wouldn’t have survived it. You would’ve laid in that bed, begging whatever God was listening to just put you out of your misery. How can you go on after that? Even though you had suffered a great loss of your own, and there had been moments where you wanted nothing more than to quit and give into the grief, you’d found a reason to push through it. But how do you even want to live after losing that much?
What had kept Frank going?
The half-cooked bacon and pancake batter were left abandoned on the stovetop, along with both of your coffees on the counter. The kitchen was eerily quiet and still apart from your quiet sniffling and the occasional chirps from a visiting cardinal outside. Frank held you in his lap while the two of you sat on the floor of the kitchen with his back pressed against one of the cabinets. His thick fingers carded through your hair slowly, and his lips were pressed gently against your forehead while he rocked you ever so slightly. You hadn’t released your tight hold on Frank. Your arms were still firmly wrapped around his neck, and at this point, you weren’t sure if you could ever let go. For the past fifteen minutes, the two of you had been sitting in silence; you processing the trauma of his past, and him reliving the worst day of his life all over again. 
“I shoulda told you before-”
“No. No that…you told me when you were ready.”
Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to focus on the steady rhythm of his strong heartbeat and not the ache you felt for him in your own chest. A flurry of questions were swirling around in your head, and you didn’t even know where to start, or if it was the right time to even ask any of them.
“What…did you…I mean how-”
“I was angry. S’pose that kept me goin’ for awhile.”
Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose. He seemed to know what you were getting at, even if you couldn’t get all the words out. That was one of the things you had grown to love about your relationship with him. The two of you seemed to be able to understand each other in a way that didn’t require a whole lot of words. Pulling back slightly to look at him, you brought one of your hands up to tenderly hold his face, brushing your thumb lightly along his sharp cheekbone slowly.
“And when you stopped being angry?”
Frank met your gaze, his warm chocolate brown eyes meeting your own. 
“I never did.”
There was a finality to those words that hurt you, and he seemed to be able to tell. He gave a gentle shake of his head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I…made peace with it, ya’know…laid it to rest in my own way. But…not a day goes by I don’t think about ‘em.”
The sincerity in Frank’s vulnerability cut right through you. Leaning in, you pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a moment while hugging him close and keeping your hand against the side of his face. There weren’t any words to express the varying emotions you felt for Frank right now. The anger for what had happened to him and his family. The anguish for what had been stolen from him. The grief for what he carried around with him every single day.
“I’m so sorry-”
“Hey hey hey, you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, yeah? It ain’t your fault-”
“It wasn’t yours either.”
Frank looked into your eyes with a softened expression, the faintest of creases forming between his thick brows. The distress in your voice tugged at his heartstrings, and he gently grabbed the back of your head to pull you in so he could press a tender kiss to your forehead. His strange behavior from yesterday when you asked about the cabin now made sense. Tilting your head back a little, you looked at Frank with a soft frown tugging down the corners of your lips.
“This was a surprise project for them.”
The tiniest of melancholic smiles graced the edge of his mouth as Frank gave a slight nod of his head.
“It was. I got it a couple years ago. I meant to work on it when I would come home, I just…never got ‘round to it, ya’know? Didn’t wanna miss a moment with Maria and the kids. The last tour I came home from, I was gonna surprise ‘em though. Tell ‘em I wasn’t goin’ back, and show ‘em the cabin. I wanted to tell ‘em the night I got home, but I was just…tired. I couldn’t stay up with Maria, couldn’t play ball with the boy, or read my girl a bedtime story. Hell, I couldn’t even drink a goddamn beer. But I thought, ya’know…they’d be more excited if I tell ‘em tomorrow while we’re at the park. Make it more special.”
Frank was going to surprise them that day. He was going to surprise them and tell them that he was staying home for good, and also surprise them with the cabin. He’d been home for one day. 
One day. 
Everything was going to change. Frank was going to get to be home with his family. He wouldn’t have had to leave them anymore. But then everything was changed for him in the worst possible way, and now you were in a place that you didn’t belong in. A place that was meant for his wife and kids that they never got to step foot in. A fresh wave of tears poured from your eyes as an insurmountable amount of grief and guilt crashed into your heart like a merciless tidal wave.
“Hey hey…c’mere. S’alright, sweetheart. Everythin’ is, yeah? C’mon, I don’t want you to cry. Breaks my heart every goddamn time seein’ you cry, baby.”
He wiped under your eyes and along the tops of your cheeks gingerly with the pads of his calloused thumbs, cradling your face in his large hands while letting out a heavy sigh.
“Look, I can’t sit here and tell you one day it ain’t gonna hurt like hell, cause it’s always goin’ to. I mean…I ain’t even gotta tell you that. You already know it. You already know how it feels to miss someone you can’t get back.”
Softly wrapping your hands around Frank’s wrists while he held your face, you nodded your head slowly while staring at him with eyes full of sorrow. You did know that feeling. You had felt it every single day since your mom had passed. But you hadn’t lost her the way Frank had lost his family. She was taken from you in a way, but nothing even remotely close to what Frank endured. At least you had gotten to say goodbye.
Frank took in the somber expression haunting your features, and he let out another deep sigh. He tenderly stroked his thumb along your cheek, searching the depths of your eyes for the words he wanted to say that could lift the heaviness that had settled in the space between you.
The most heartbreaking thing about this revelation was knowing that Frank had been alone. You had known from the start that he kept to himself, apart from his friendship with Billy, and…whatever it was he had with Madani. And based on the way he had spoken about his parents, it was clear they had already passed some time ago. But then he lost his entire family. Hell, he had even lost parts of his own identity. For the past three years, Frank hadn’t had anyone but himself.
“You’ve been alone.”
Frank was still gently stroking his thumb along your cheek in an effort to comfort you. His other arm was wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you close to his chest. Hearing the delicate concern in your voice, the edges of Frank’s lips tugged upwards in the most miniscule of smiles.
“I ain’t alone no more. I got you.”
He tilted his head faintly in your direction to get his point across, pressing his thumb lightly against your lips, and warmth suddenly blossomed within your heart. Letting out a soft breath, you closed your eyes for a moment, pressing your forehead against his tenderly once again while a fleeting smile graced your lips as you kissed his thumb gently.
“You have me.”
While he leaned in to press the softest and sweetest of kisses to your lips, Frank ran his large hand through your hair in a comforting way once again, and then looked into your eyes in complete adoration. 
“You’re the first good thing I’ve had in a long time, sweetheart. A long goddamn time. I want you to know that.”
Your heart felt like it was going to burst through your rib cage as you gazed into those warm coffee irises that had captivated you from the very moment you met Frank. Something about him had drawn you in from that first introduction. Even though he had been stoic and closed off, there had been a spark there that lit an ember which had been steadily growing ever since. 
Wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, you hugged onto him and rested your head on his shoulder while closing your eyes, inhaling the comforting scent that was uniquely and wholly Frank.
“So are you.”
Even though your voice was barely above a whisper, you could tell Frank heard you by the way he embraced you even tighter against his chest and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head.
While you sat there in his arms, it began to occur to you that your appreciation for your bodyguard had steadily evolved into something greater than you originally thought. It was something deeper, and far more profound than just simple admiration. Every time Frank was around, your restless tension and incessant anxiety seemed to vanish, because you knew that you were safe with him. You didn’t filter your words, or tone down your personality, or even give into the effort of putting on a mask, because you didn’t have to with Frank. 
There was a subtle seed that had been planted within your heart months ago that had been languidly blossoming into something you had never been able to grasp before. It was something magical and terrifying you had only ever dreamed of discovering, and it was beginning to become clear that it was something you had possessed the entire time.
Every crooked smile, every bellow of laughter, and every lingering stare unleashed a basket of butterflies to flutter around aimlessly in your stomach. You could hear it pounding within your chest and feel the heat of it nipping at your bones. It called to you in the subconscious of your dreams, and the taste of it was still tingling on your lips. It had been under your nose all along.
You were in love with Frank.
tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress
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starryschoolgirl · 5 months
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Good Husbandry
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Summary -> While you view preparing for your honeymoon as finding all the hottest destinations in Honolulu for tourists, Elvis knows that he must help you, his soon-to-be virgin bride, understand all that comes with the honeymoon. What a good man he is, to give you a little hands-on lesson on what good husbandry is.
Warnings -> Lovely domestic things, innocence/purity kink, religious undertones, smut, just the tip trope, hinted breeding kink, swearing, Elvis gets a little rough, mention of RFK's assassination, the reader is overbearingly sheltered when it comes to topics like sex, cum eating, fantasies of "ruining" a girl's vagina, there's definitely some plot here I won't lie, loved writing this a little too much.
WC -> 7.3k
A/N -> This is an installation of the Baby Love AU. Find Masterlist Here!
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The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotion for everyone. Elvis was doing press conferences for the NBC special he was about to start filming for, and while you usually go with him, with the recent assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, it was decided unanimously that it would be best if you were at home.
Elvis would have liked to keep you by his side, but given your family’s public connection to the Kennedys he knew that the press might behave in an uncalled for manner toward you.
It was also to be noted that he’d been very patient with you the entire week, after all you did know the man. He was a close family friend, a lot closer to your father, mother, and older brother than you. But there were still tears shed a few nights ago when it had occurred.
Most of that week you sat around the current California home, keeping the couch company like you were the prettiest of pillows as you spent most of your time on the telephone with your hysterical mother and being soothed by your childhood nanny who now watched your younger brother. You’d decided to write a letter to Ethel, she was no doubt being bombarded with phone calls from press and other family with the recent death of her husband. 
It was a rough way to start the month, it was only 6 days into June when something as tragic as that had occurred. 
You were certain things would change in regards to the guest list of your wedding just a little over a week away, for one you could understandably count on the possible absence of Ethel Kennedy and her children. Aside from her it wasn’t Elvis’ side you were worried about, because when Elvis says jump they all say “how high?”. It was your own side that worried you.
You knew it was selfish and stupid to be thinking of that at a time like this, those poor Kennedys have been through so much. But you couldn’t help the worrisome thoughts that lingered in your mind. Your parents already didn’t approve of Elvis all that much, with the influx of emotion that this event caused they might just cancel all together and then you’ll be left without anyone from your own family.
And that alone could cause an emotional storm to brew in Elvis. He always expressed his own disdain for your family, but you knew there was guilt deep down that he felt. And if he realized that he were the reason your wedding day went without family, he would be angry with you and himself. But that was only because he felt things very deeply, he was caring in that way.
So you made sure the past few days to get in as much reading as possible, so that even if your wedding doesn’t end up being the dream you hoped for, that your knowledge of your honeymoon destination would make up for it.
It had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.
"We better get up and get changed soon..."
You hummed absently at Elvis' words as your eyes continued to skim along the page.
"Wouldn't want the rest of the boys seein' ya in ya nightie"
You hummed once more at whatever he had said, much too focused on your book to pay much mind. Elvis noticed this and laughed softly as he asked,
"What are ya readin' Honey?"
You looked up from the book that you had been enthralled in for the past half-hour to see Elvis staring at you over one of his religious books, he had a crooked smile and a quirked eyebrow, his facial expression likely from the fact that you were actually reading a book.
You smiled cheekily and crawled closer to him on the bed, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you quickly card your floral bookmark in between the pages you were on before closing it and presenting it to Elvis, your fiancé.
"It's a book all about Hawaii, it has some of the best secret locations on all the islands, including Oahu"
You smiled up at him as his eyes scrolled to look over at you then at the book, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. He set his book down on his lap to grab yours, one of his fingers tracing over the cover as he murmured honestly,
"Well Babylove, I don't think these locations are all too secret anymore considerin' the book is 7 years old"
You hummed softly at the statement. Truthfully you only picked the book off the shelf because one, it said Hawaii which is the place you and Elvis were planning to be your honeymoon destination, and secondly, it was pink.
Elvis shook his head fondly and brought a hand up to ruffle your hair, thankfully at the moment there were no rings on his fingers to pluck and pull at the strands of your hair. With that in mind you happily leaned into the touch like a cat getting its fix from its owner.
You roll your body closer, dragging one leg over Elvis' legs as if he were one of those long body pillows. You snuggled your face into his chest, feeling the silky fabric of his short ascot scarf. He'd recently begun wearing them often, you didn't mind it because you could tug him by his scarf whenever you wanted a kiss.
Your voice was soft and murmured into the fabric, "I wanna start our marriage off right, our honeymoon has to be perfect, and this book,”
You pull back for a moment to grab the book and open it to the first page. Elvis watches with an amused smile as your dainty little finger flies across the dust-colored pages to the sentence that you read aloud,
"These spots will guarantee a sweet time with that special someone"
Elvis’ voice is laced with harmless sarcasm (that you don’t quite catch) as he says,
“Oh well if the book says so, it has to be true”
You then excitedly close the book and show Elvis the back cover, where a quote from what must've been a review was laid out in bold, "Has the hottest places for America’s hottest honeymoon destination"
Elvis laughed softly. His arm wraps around your shoulder as his hand runs up and down your back, calluses grazing the delicate fabric of your satin nightie with a scratching sound before taking its rest on the curve of your ass. He explains, "Well little one, there's a bit more to honeymoons and marriage than that"
Your eyebrow quirks in the way you learned from watching Elvis' own eyebrow within the span of your relationship. It looked as if you were suspicious of Elvis, thinking he was trying to pull the wool over your eyes.
With a gentle hand Elvis removed the book from your hand and set it on the nightstand where he then set his own book on as well. You laughed softly as Elvis’ hands pulled you into your place, till you straddled his lap innocently for him to explain something,
“Well Babylove, a big part of marriage and honeymoonin’ is good husbandry.”
You go silent for a second, thinking to yourself as your fingers trace little shapes on Elvis’ chest absentmindedly. When you come to the conclusion that you’re clueless on the subject you ask,
“What’s husbandry?”
Elvis’ hands run along your sides, running up to your ribs, down to your hips, then repeating their cycle, it was in his own absentmindedness that he did it as he explained,
“Well, husbandry is kind of cultivatin’ and makin’ use of land, sorta like plantin’ a seed and takin’ care of it.”
“Like farmers do?”
“Very good girl, like farmers do. Now ya see, that comes into play within things like marriage and honeymoons. To be a farmer, the first thing ya gotta do is plant a seed, then ya get your farm goin’ and everythin’ is just dandy as long as you keep takin’ care of that seed.”
You nodded your head along to what he was saying, it made sense. But what did that have to do with your honeymoon?
“Just as that goes, to be a husband, you also gotta plant a seed. So ya see, in marriage, instead of a farmer plantin’ a seed, it’s the husband who plants the seed, and he plants it right in your petals”
You grimaced with embarrassment as you heard Elvis mention your “petals”. Such talk was still very new to you. Having been raised by the church most of your life, and having only attended catholic private schools, you’d been taught that such talk was deplorable and vulgar. 
Elvis seemed to be trying to undo all their teaching as he was very free and open with topics such as that one.
He could see the way your face began to dust a precious pink along your cheeks as you stared down at your hands scrunching up his shirt’s fabric within them. He couldn’t help but adore his sweet girl and lift your chin to take in the entirety of your innocence, the privilege of being innocent and naive having been fed to you with a silver spoon since you were a baby with your family’s fortune.
Your education didn’t span too far, it was done under the assumption that you’d be protected from the roughness of the world, the riff-raff. And though Elvis was a fair match monetarily-wise to your parents and the people you were raised around,with enough money to keep you as far away from the world’s roughness as possible, he was still considered to be in that riff-raff crowd.
Oh, what a shame for your family and the rest of your upper-class culture to have a rare purity, like you whisked away from your family made up of good breeding and a pure bloodline by a man like Elvis who would screw it all up when he one day planted his seed into your womb, making your once purebred French bloodline his own as he mixed himself into the history of your DNA to make a child that you will carry for months.
A child you will love to no end while your ancestors roll over in their graves.
Just the thought of it all made Elvis giddy.
His smile is cheeky as he grabs one of your nervous hands to soothe you while also keeping a grip on your chin with his other hand, his voice is breathy from speaking through a laugh,
“Now don’t let me lose ya, still got some splainin’ to do”
You can’t help but continue to duck your head away into your shoulder to hide your embarrassment, till Elvis pulls you out of it with his sweet little nickname for you,
“C’mon now Bubbles, need ya to keep listenin’ f’me”
You look up to meet those dark blues of Elvis’ that pierce with a strange softness.
“To seal the marriage a man plants his seed in a woman, and from then on he has to take care of that woman, that’s good husbandry. That’s part of what happens on a honeymoon. Understand?”
You nod slowly, and mumble a soft, “I understand”, before laying yourself down on Elvis, making yourself comfortable as you lay your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso, somehow squeezing their way between Elvis' frame and the mattress.
Marriage seemed scary. Ever since you had gotten engaged to Elvis you felt a different weight begin to fall on your shoulders. And though you were excited to marry Elvis, you couldn’t help but remember how your mother described marriage to be with your father.
As Elvis dragged his hands along your body tracing every poke of a bone through your skin he closed his eyes, showing his affection through the action, you thought back to how marriage was represented to you as a little girl.
There were nights when your father stayed late for work that you’d sit on the floor between your mother's legs as she sat on the sofa, by then she would be nursing her 4th glass of wine that night, and let her braid your hair before bed.
You’d whimper softly as her diamond-littered gaudy engagement ring, which was comparable to the one you now owned, would catch on some strands of your hair. But you wouldn’t voice any complaint as she was too busy voicing her own, complaining to an 8-year-old you about your father’s “wandering eye”, how he loves work more than he loves his family, and that he can’t even function without a pill, in what sense she meant “function” you’d never know, because you only saw your father as a personal superhero. The man who would bring gifts like Santa, the man who would read you to bed on the rare nights he could, the man who held the whole world in his hand every time he held you.
You didn’t recognize the man your mother would drunkenly describe. And soon after you wouldn’t recognize your own mother as she would break into tears and talk about how it’s her fault, and that she knows it all falls on her to make the marriage work, she just needs to try harder.
You’d caress her knee and try to soothe the adult, “It’s okay Mommy”, while mustering up the courage to promise her that, “It’ll be okay”
And then at the end of the night, she would turn you around and slur with as much affection as she could muster,
“Always tend to your husband Sweetie, don’t make a prude of yourself like me, don’t make a nagging wife, be pleasant and pliant and you’ll be a happy wife”
Of course you weren’t married yet, and that might’ve been what was causing you to be such a worrywart, because you were scared of the unknown. That’s why you’ve been trying your best to find ways to start the marriage off in the best way possible.
But you now had a whole other thing to worry about perfecting, husbandry. 
It would all work out though, as long as you heed your mother’s words and be a pleasant, pliant wife, you’ll be just fine, and you’re confident that Elvis would never turn out to be the kind of husband that your mother described your father to be.
You mumbled into the fabric of Elvis’ shirt,
“How does a man plant his seed in a woman?”
Elvis’ hands came to a halt at your words. He thought he’d gone over this kind of thing with you before, then again there was never much need to. You never prodded for more than you were given, because you were simply unaware there was more you could get out of the pleasures of your body.
Elvis stared down at the top of your head as you kept your cheek resting on his chest, he realized how abstract your thoughts must’ve been compared to his within your relationship. He had spent countless nights holding himself back from making you his completely, there were so many times he easily could’ve done so. So many times you put yourself in the position to be vulnerable to the disgusting thought of a man who knew the pleasures you could give.
Had Elvis been a different man he would’ve done so by now, taken you shamelessly and left you crumpled on the floor next to your crumpled up clothes.
But he’d be reigned back by the thought that God wouldn’t make something like you, something so pure and holy, for sin. Had Elvis not been a god-fearing man he would’ve had his way with you.
All those nights he spent eating you out, listening to you finally break that voice box of yours in, the only thing he’d thought about was how much louder you would be when he could finally fuck you, meanwhile you thought that the sensation guided by Elvis’ tongue that momentarily blinded you was as good as it got, was as close as you’d get to God.
Oh Elvis could show you so much more, teach you so much more, touch you so much more. And as shameful as it is, he’d be a liar if he said that the fact that he wanted to be the one deflower you didn’t play a role in your engagement.
“I could show ya how it’s done Honey, would ya be alright with that? It’s a little different from anything we’ve ever done”
You sat up on his lap and nodded as you kept a hand to support yourself up on his stomach. He basked in the sight of you with a small smile, digging his hands through your hair like roots in the dirt, so deep and entangled it could be hard to tell where your hair began and his hands ended.
It wasn’t at all painful in the way your mother’s hands used to rest in your hair during her drunken stupor.
It was gentle as Elvis always was.
He used a gentle force to pull you close enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead for a moment and hold it there, you closed your eyes and let out a breath, any stiff stress in your body leaving at the touch of Elvis’ lips.
He pulled away, lips and hands.
“Lay down Baby”
Elvis patted your side of the bed and you quickly laid down as you usually would, and with a quick fwip of his hips Elvis’ knees rested just outside your thighs, his entire body hovering above yours as he reached over to your nightstand.
You heard the clink of glass, no doubt the two glass figurines you’d had since you were a child, your voice was soft but panicked as you felt a pang of protectiveness over your childhood trinkets.
“W-What are you doing?”
His response was immediate as he knew your sentimental feelings toward your figurines,
“It’s alright Honey, jus’ turnin’ Dottie and Lottie around”
“Oh.”
You let out a sigh of relief before having a blush spread like a wildfire in the summer across your cheeks. When Elvis had first touched you, you felt the need to turn your glass figurines Dolores and Charlotte, also known as Dottie and Lottie, around before he could continue any further. When he asked you why you could only mumble a quiet explanation about wanting to preserve their innocence. Elvis didn’t mind the strange gesture, he thought it was rather cute actually, it was something so girlish and sweet, something he’d never think of, it further instituted that you really were an endearing little girl.
And ever since then anytime Elvis touched you, he’d always turn your figurines toward the wall for you. And him doing it now meant that to plant his seed in you, he had to touch you.
You close your eyes as you relax into the mattress completely, and feel a shift in the bed then the cold air began to linger up your nightie, or rather Elvis made your nightie linger up your skin, giving way for him to view the cutely contrasting color of your pastel yellow panties to your pastel blue short satin nightie.
As the bed shifted a little more you allowed Elvis to part your legs so he could slide off the piece of fabric, his hands caressing the skin of your ankles a few seconds longer than the rest of your leg, and then he intricately removed your panties off your feet he laid them on the outside of your thigh, within arm's length.
You assumed what you’d be feeling next was what you always felt whenever he touched you, those calloused fingers of his walking their way up your thighs as he made himself comfortable right between the two limbs, his mouth and nose inches away from that bundle of nerves that he so lovingly explained was the bud of your little rose. 
His fingers would then drift down to what he called the petals of your rose, separating them gently, exposing your hole to the cold air of the room making you shiver like the scared little girl you were as he did so. But he liked it, liked how visceral all your reactions were from your inexperience.
Only this time, you’d been wrong as you heard the familiar shink of his belt, and as if you were a trained dog and his belt were a clicker, your eyes shot open as you knew what that sound meant. It meant you got to do the touching, but, why were your panties off if you were doing the touching?
As you sat up you saw Elvis shucking his pants and boxers down, you watched with a blush as you saw his dick, it wasn’t yet completely hard, it more so at half-staff if anything, with that it maintained enough loose skin so that the usual image of his veins bulging profusely through the thin skin was not a sight you’d yet see, but you could change that.
As you sat up with your legs still spread enough so that Elvis once he was free of his pants was able to swiftly kneel between them. You leaned forward with an eager hand but Elvis had caught your wrist before you’d made it to your target, you batted your eyelashes up at him in confusion.
“Elvis?”
He had a crooked smile on his lips and asked, “Don’t ya remember what ya gotta do first? C’mon Hon we’ve been over this a dozen times”. You had to think for a moment but felt flushed with embarrassment at your own mistake.
Elvis’ eyebrow ticked upward as he caught your realization, then he slowly raised your hand up to your mouth for you to lick a stripe along it. When he didn’t immediately pull away you knew to keep lapping at the skin till Elvis saw it suitable.
His head tilted down a little as he made eye-contact with you through the cracks of your fingers, staring at you as you licked lines of wet along the lines of your palm, he was mumbling a praise or too like “There ya go”, and “Just like that”. You only shut your mouth as his free hand came up to cup your cheek and gently push you back from your hand.
With your newfound view of his cock it definitely looked less limp than before but Elvis had taught you how to get it standing, and you wanted to show him that you could. He’d been loosening the reins lately and had been giving you more independence to touch him in the way you knew he liked. But at the perfect moments he’d step in and be a helping hand, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he showed you what kind of pace he liked when his dick twitched a specific way.
It was him helping you build this muscle memory that was slowly etching its way into your brain, on the walls of your skull, and in the nerves of your hand
With the softest of groans leaving Elvis’ mouth your eyes shot up from his cock that maintained the attention of your palm, wanting to see his face, see the preview of your own triumph as you continued to stroke with the pace his hand guided yours along.
His smile was gone as his mouth twisted slightly to let out the low noise, he licked his lips quickly and tightened his hold on your hand, in turn tightening your hold on his cock as he ran your palm up and down it, your voice was hesitant and soft as you questioned, “L-Like that Elvis? I do it like that…”
He hummed an affirmation and mumbled, “Keep at it”, before pulling his hand off yours, leaning back on the bed on his palms while watching you with lowered lids, had they been any lower they would’ve been closed.
You tried shuffling yourself closer by planting your heels into the mattress and scooting yourself closer, but it was hard to focus on both things. You didn’t want to louse up what a good job you were doing, but you felt you could do better if you were just a little closer.
Elvis must’ve read your inner turmoil as he leaned off his palms and cupped the back of your knees with each hand, pulling you closer at the top of your calves where they connected with your thighs. As you continued with your strokes you noticed how close you now were, your bare pussy had never been so close to Elvis’ cock.
With the realization a strange curiosity shot through you, a kind of curiosity that had filled your senses one of the first times you’d sat on Elvis’s lap. He kept you on one knee easily, and it had been the leg that he often bounced absentmindedly, and as he easily bounced you on his leg you felt a weird sensation, and that damned curiosity of yours got the best of you subtly shifted on his leg, and suddenly the jumbling of your legs on his knee had shifted to a jumbling on a small bundle of nerves between your legs.
No you wouldn’t let your curiosity get the best of you again, you wouldn’t.
As Elvis pulled his hands away from your legs he leaned back on one palm and the other he reached forward to rub that very bundle of nerves you’d just been thinking of about. Just the slightest bit of force made your body react with what could be described as a convulsion as you breathed out a noise of surprise.
Elvis’ almost dazed look on his face didn’t shift as he glided his calloused thumb down between your folds, scooping up whatever was beginning to wet them, then using it as a lubricant to give your clit a good rub down, his facial expression unwavering as he watched you twitch and struggle to focus on doing a good job.
His voice was low and almost sounded slurred as he mumbled,
“Now this is hard ain’t it Honey? Tryin’ to pleasure each other at the same time?”
Your face shrunk and your lip quivered as you tried to maintain that you wouldn’t break under the sensations of it all, wanting to do good.
Upon gaining no answer Elvis’ eyes glazed up to meet yours, they now shifted to sympathy as he reassured you gently with little circles of his thumb around your bud,
“It’s alright Baby, I know it. I know it’s hard, that’s why through marriage a man can plant his seed in a woman, makes it easier y’know? A man can help you while he helps himself, ya shouldn’t have t’be doin’ work Honey”
You don’t know when you started nodding along to his words, you hardly understood them, but the way his eyebrows arched, the way his lips curled, the way his voice drew out, he seemed like he knew everything in the world. He was so in his element that you wouldn’t question it if he told you a cat were a dog.
But you had to ask, through your soft pants and whimpers, “H-how?” How was it possible to both be pleasured at the same time? How was it possible for both of you to reach that special spot just between the earth and the heavens where all felt impossibly right?
Elvis’ lips grew to a smirk once more as he removed his thumb from your clit and his hand wrapped around yours to pull you away. As you looked down you saw that familiar sight, that thin skin stretched out to show that long vein that started at the side of his dick and traveled down the center.
His other hand ran up your calf, to your thigh just to rest on your stomach, still covered by the top of your satin nightie, and with a firm force and a, “Lie back f’me” you were laid down on the bed with your legs spread.
He spread them a little further, and you watched as best you could while still laying down, craning your neck painfully to see what he was doing as he made a ring out of his thumb and index finger.
Elvis’ eyes met with yours, making sure you were watching before lining the tip of his cock up with the little makeshift hole he made of his fingers for demonstration.
“When a man plants his seed, he fills you with himself. This right here,” He lifted the little ring he’d made of two fingers, “This is like that little hole between your petals, so what I’m gonna do is fill it just slightly,” he slid the ring over the tip of his cock, leaving you to watch with a mouth slightly agape as his movement stretches the foreskin.
It’s not like when you stroke him though, he stops much too short, and doesn’t even go near the base of his cock, he ends at the base of the tip only.
“Now, this much is just till the wedding Hon. We can only do just the tippy top Baby, can’t break ya in just yet, we gotta wait till we’re unified under God to make that kinda connection-”
“...cause it’s special”
Elvis looked up at you, surprised to hear your soft voice so suddenly, it seems the words left your mouth with a little thoughtful pout. God, let this man hold back today. Let him be graceful and kind to his babylove, Elvis thought to himself as he smiled softly and hummed, 
“Yes it is sweet girl, it’s somethin’ special”
As a moment of sweet silence filled the air the two of you made eye contact, you smiled, feeling unsure of what was to come, he smiled back knowingly.
“Are ya ready Babylove?”
You bit your lower lip nervously and could only nod with trusting eyes. Elvis’ figure suddenly shut out most of the light from the ceiling as he supported his body above yours with one hand while he used his other to line up the tip of his cock.
You let out a shaky breath as he parted your fold with the tip of his cock before running it along your leaking slit. From the bottom up past the top till he hit that bundle of nerves that he could find with a blindfold. You squeaked softly at the bit of force he was using to circle your clit with his cock.
Elvis swore he’d do everything with you in mind, but as he watched the way your big eyes would crinkle to little bouts of eyelid folds and as he saw the way your lip quiver with every squeak and breath you let out, he couldn’t help himself but gauge your reaction to a little something.
Your breaths came out one by one in panic as you suddenly felt the tip of his cock begin to bat around your little bundle of nerves from the top, from side to side, even attacking from the bottom. Your eyes shot open from their little crinkles of stress and just before you could open your mouth his little batting around of your sensitive bud turned to slowed drawn out circles rubbing along the edge.
“That feels good huh Honey? It’s gonna get even better, just need ya to relax. Uh huh, that’s good, you’re doin’ good”
You relaxed into it, your jaw falling slack and your breaths coming out shallow. As you sank into that warmth that always accompanied Elvis’ gentle touch, Elvis pulled his neck back slightly to get a better look at your hole, with your folds parted he had a perfect view if he could look past his cock. He craned his neck a little to the left and found the target, wide open from your relaxed state, he licked his thumb to lubricate it and like a veteran, he navigated his cock down and at the forefront of it as his thumb took its place and pace in circling your clit, had you not been watching through lidded eyes you wouldn’t have even noticed.
“Here it come Baby, here it come”
Elvis couldn’t even look at you to gauge your reaction as his head fell back immediately as he was engulfed by your heat. Somewhere in the distance he heard a high-pitched noise but he was too high on the feeling- No, the knowledge that the first thing to fill you, to really fill you was his uncut cock’s head.
He breathed out to the ceiling, or rather to the Lord,
“Fuck…”
How could a feeling like this fill his mind, body, and soul from just the tip going in. Shit if he hadn’t already proposed to you he would do it now, just so he could one day feel the full effect of your body on his.
And then he finally peered down at you, and you were a sight to behold. He hadn’t been with a virgin in a long time, and the ones he had been with, you made them look like the most experienced girls in the world.
Your face was crumpled and your clenched fist was brought up to your mouth, you bit down so hard on your knuckles Elvis could see the skin losing its color around your little teeth. His hand slid down to your hip, running along the skin soothingly, as he hummed out, “Relax, it’s alright, just relax”
You nodded and pulled your fist from your mouth to show you were relaxing, but as your lower lip trembled Elvis could only softly remind, “Relax…”
And after a few moments of Elvis running his hands along your hips you spoke in an unsure whisper, “I-Is that it?”, Elvis sighed with a smile, “No Hon, don’t worry, but I can’t show ya the rest till ya relax, alright?” Elvis could feel you tightly around him, if he tried to pull the head of his cock back out he’d hurt you, he knew that.
"I-I am relaxed"
“No ya not Babylove”
You sighed softly, feeling a bit frustrated, this wasn’t what you thought it would be, it hurt. And it was obvious that you weren’t acting in the most pleasing way, so you lied through your teeth with a bit of an edge to your quiet words, “I’m relaxed.”
Elvis’ soft smile fell slightly at the tone of voice, and his eyebrows rose as he stared down at you, only now you avoided eye contact and opted to look at the wall. You tried to focus on the paint of the wall as best you can but it was thrown out the door as you felt a painful pull.
You whined at the feeling, and watched as Elvis pulled out, now you attempted to look him in the eye but he didn’t even spare you a glance as he muttered before lining himself up again, “Call that fuckin’ relaxed? If you’re so relaxed it should be easy goin’ back in”
Before you could voice an apology he’d already shoved the tip back in. It was much rougher than the first time he had put it in, it had you release a loud whimper and kick your feet, your heels pushing you away from his body, but his hips only chased further.
And those hands that were soothingly rubbing along your hips earlier now had them in a bruising grip to keep you from moving.
“Said ya relaxed, so fuckin’ act like it-”
Elvis let out a low groan as he stroked his cock while your little hole contracted from the stress of it all, it was like you were trying to swallow him, trying to suck him down into you. Almost like your body knew you needed his seed. And had he been a different man, or more accurately, had you been a different girl, he would’ve given it to you without shame. But you were different, you were special, you made this special.
He pulled out once more just to push back in, and then he repeated with no time in between, leaving you gasping at the rough push and pull of his cock head and whining at it, before blubbering out a series of apologies to him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, ‘m not relaxed..! I-It hurts Elvis..!”
He’d ignored your apologies, but the way you said his name, like he could solve all your problems while also causing all of them, it was like you had this type of innocence. A pure innocence that no matter the pain he’d cause you, you’d still love him. Like if he kicked you, you’d come running right back.
Elvis stopped himself from pulling out once more and stared down at you, his grip released and one of his hands cupped your cheek and rested a thumb at the corner of your eye just before your temple, ready to catch a tear in case those teary eyes of yours spill over.
You stared up at him with a frown and pulled your hands to rest nervously on your stomach, feeling a sudden sense of awkwardness mixed with discomfort at the idea of Elvis being upset with you. But instead he seemed to sympathize with you,
“Now you see, ya gotta listen to me Babylove. I don’t expect much from ya, all I expect is honesty, now, be honest and let me know when you relax.”
You let out a shaky breath and soft noise as Elvis’ thumb landed back on your clit, beginning to rub those circles that make your hips twist a little from instinct. Elvis’ lips had been on yours in the blink of an eye, but his kiss was deep and slow, it wasn’t like when he’d kiss you so hard and so fast that your teeth knocked against his. Instead you felt his tongue explore each and every inch of your mouth carefully, could feel the way his tongue swiped along the small space between your lower gums and teeth.
His nose lightly grazed against the start of your cheek as he tilted his head to get a different angle. 
And in what would be one of the only moments for you to catch your breath within the kiss, you managed to breath out, “‘M ready”
It was a different kind of tug due to the efforts of the both of you. You were relaxed and open and Elvis was only rocking back and forth into you, no complete pulling, you couldn’t handle that yet.
With each rock of his hips, you let out a little breath or squeak. For a moment you lost focus as you watched the way Elvis used the thumb on one hand to stroke your little bud while using his other hand to stroke himself, but you were pulled back into your moment with Elvis as he groaned lowly, followed by a groan that sounded a bit more throaty. He was close.
And knowing that it was because he was in you made you feel a sense of excitement, and sense of sexuality, realizing you could make a man feel this way by doing nothing but laying there like a pliant doll.
Be a pliant wife. Your mother was right.
Your hips dragged upward slightly, crashing into his hips that were rocking down into you, the collision of skin made you moan softly as your manicured nails reached for the sheets, one hand gripped them brutally while your other hand ended up in Elvis' hair, not gripping, only carding through the dark strands.
“E-Elvis, it’s- I’m…”
You couldn’t describe it, what was coming, but thankfully you didn’t have to as he mumbled into your lips,
“I know Baby, I know. It’s comin’ f’me to, comin’ fast Babylove- H-how’s it comin’ for you?”
As the upward grind of your hips turned to little upward thrusts that your feet could manage on the slippery sheets of the bed you could hardly choke out a word as his thumb had entertained that warmth just below your stomach for too long, it’d been teased and tugged along far too long from the rubbing of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves that at its peaking point, it snapped, leaving you to try and choke out the words,
“It- I- It’s-”
As your mouth remained agape but your voice fell silent, and those pitiful attempts at thrusts of yours fell back to wishful grinds of your hips. Elvis thanked the Lord, he’d been trying his best to hold on for you, to slow his rocking when he felt himself get a little too close, he’d been edging himself almost the entire time for you.
And now as he pulled out and continued to stroke his cock with one hand, the hand previously fondling your clit reached for the pair of panties he laid aside so long ago.
As you caught your breath you watched as Elvis’ hand stroked twice, thrice, four more times along his length before he buried his cock in your crumpled up panties, letting his head fall back and a guttural moan fill the room as he reached his peak.
After a few moments of silence accompanied by the pants of the both of you Elvis removed the metal ring holding his short ascot scarf together at the center of his neck, you heard a clink as he tossed it somewhere on the wood floor, then you watched as the fabric got closer to your face, closing your eyes at the contact you could feel Elvis wiping away the dampness building on your head and cheeks from the heat what you just experienced. As the feeling left you watched as he wiped his own face off before bringing the satin scarf down to your petals, wiping off the proof of your pleasure from your pussy’s lips then wiping off your thighs that happened to be the victims of the heated juices that spread through your body which were shoveled out from the earlier pulls of Elvis’ cock’s head.
After Elvis caught his breath and pulled the panties away from his cock to see his work, then he flipped it toward you, and you saw that familiar white liquid that Elvis told you was a reward for your hard work.
“When we get married and I fill you with my seed, this is what I’ll be fillin’ ya with, I promise…”
Your eyes were lidded and tired, but full of love as you took in the sight of your fiancé, his once perfectly coiffed hair now ruffled, you could see sweat stains forming on the blue silk shirt he didn’t bother to take off before starting, and those eyelashes of his must’ve been batting so much as he now had a stray on his cheek, he must’ve missed it with his scarf.
As Elvis prepped your reward, scraping it off the pastel fabric with a finger you parted your lips, and as he finger-fed you his seed you accepted the finger into your mouth, closing your lips around it as you sucked it clean. “Atta girl, did so well” 
Your own little finger guided up his cheek to swipe the eyelash off his cheek, he watched with confusion at the way you smiled around his finger, then you flipped your finger around to show him.
As he crawled over your body to lay down beside you, removing his finger in the process you spoke with a bit of hoarseness, “Make a wish”
Elvis smiled fondly and put a hand over your thigh, “You can have this one Babylove”
You smiled before checking once more, “Are you sure?”
He wanted to laugh at how serious you were taking it all, and with a gentle rub of his hand he reassured, “I’m sure Honey, I’m sure”
You smiled down at the little eyelash resting on the middle of your index finger. And you wished for all that you could want, you wished for a happy marriage.
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I had so much fun!! I really liked writing this, and I'm so happy I've had requests to write this character to the point I can turn it into a whole au!! hope you liked it.
If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!
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@fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat here it is lovelies
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